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m.  PKISONER  GF  ChILLON 


AND  OTHER  FOEMS 


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STANDARD   LITERATURE  SERIES 


THE  PRISONER  OF  CHILLON 


WITH    SEIiECTIONS    FROM 


CHILDE  HAROLD  AXD  MAZEPPA 


LORD    BYRON 


WITH   INTRODUCTORY  AND   EXPLANATORY   NOTES 


r       ,     .  ',>    T  , 


NEW  YORK  AND  NEW  ORLEANS 
UNIVERSITY   PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

1896 


COPYKIGHT,    1S96,    BY 

UNIVERSITY  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


♦**  1752 


,  It  cf<  <CCIC  '  '  c 


Press  of  .r.  .1.  Little  &  Co. 
Astor  Place,  New  York 


INTRODUCTION. 

(George  Gordon  Xoel  Byrox  was  born  in  London  on  January  22. 
1788.  JHis  father  was  John  Byron,  a  captain  in  the  British  army,  and 
nephew  of  Lord  William  Byron  of  Xewstead  Abbey,  Nottingham,  Eng- 
land. His  mother  was  Catherine  Gordon,  daughter  of  George  Gordon,  a 
gentleman  of  high  family  and  considerable  landed  estate  in  Aberdeen- 
shire. Scotland.  Captain  Byron  was  a  man  of  disreputable  character 
and  extravagant  habits.  He  squandered  nearly  all  iiis  wife's  means,  and 
when  he  died  in  1792  there  was  but  a  small  income  left  to  support  the 
widow  and  her  infant  child,  then  living  in  the  city  of  Aberdeen.     \ 

Lord  William  Byron  died  in  1798.  -As  he  had  no  children;ji><§  pro- 
perty .and  title  descended  to  his  grandnephew,  George,  who  thus  at  the 
age  of  ten  years  became  Lord  Byron.  The  mother  and  son  then  removed 
to  Newstead,  the  ancient  home  of  the  Byrons.  and  soon  afterwards  the 
young  lord  was  sent  to  the  famous  school  of  Harrow,  and  subsequently 
to  Trinity  College,  Cambridge.  To  his  mother's  injudjcioiis  indulgence 
has  been  partly  attributed  the  waywardness  that  marked  his  subsequent 
career. 

Lord  Byron  was  not  what  would  be  called  a  good  student.  At  Harrow, 
as  he  tells  us  himself,  he  was  "always  cricketing,  rebelling,  fighting, 
and  in  all  manner  of  mischiefs."  But  though  he  neglected  his  class 
studies,  he  was  a  great  reader  of  books,  particularly  books  of  history, 
biography,  poetry,  and  fiction.  Before  he  was  fifteen  years  of  age  he 
had  read  histories  of  all  the  principal  countries  of  the  world,  lives  of 
most  of  the  celebrated  men  of  ancient  and  modern  times,  and  nearly  all 
the  British  poets.  To  this  early  and  extensive  study  of  English  writers, 
as  one  of  his  biographers  remarks,  may  be  attributed  that  mastery  over 
his  own  language  with  which  Lord  Byron  came  equipped  into  the  field 
of  literature,  and  which  enabled  him  as  fast  as  his  youthful  fancies 
sprung  up  to  clothe  them  in  words  worthy  of  their  beauty. 
I  Byron  began  writing  poetry  at  the  age  of  twelve,  and  at  the  age  of 
nTiieteen  he  published  a  collection  of  his  verses  under  the  title,  "Hours 
of  Idleness.")  These  youthful  productions,  not  of  very  high  merit,  were 
severely  criticised  by  the  "Edinburgh  Review."'  Byron  replied  in  the 
"English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers,"  in  which  he  fiercely  attacked 

221867 


4  INTRODrCTION. 

iiol  only  llio  oditors  of  llic  "  Review"  bul  many  of  the  liest  known  liter- 
jiry  men  of  the  country.  Soon  iiiter  the- publication  of  this  poem  he  left 
Kni^land  on  a  travelling  tour,  during  which  he  visited  Portugal  and 
Spain,  Greece,  Turkey,  and  Asia  Minor.  One  of  the  events  of  the  tour 
was  the  famous  swim  across  tiie  Hellespont,  from  Scstos  on  the  European 
lo  Abydos  on  the  Asiatic  side,  a  feat  which  liyrou  himself  thus  mentions 
in  a  letter  to  a  frien<l  in  Kuglaud  : 

''This  morning  [^lay  8,  1810]  I  swam  from  Sestos  to  Abydos.  The 
immediate  distance  is  not  above  a  mile,  but  the  current  renders  it 
hazardous.  1  attempted  it  a  week  ago,  and  failed,  owing  to  the  north 
vvind  and  the  wonderful  rapidity  of  the  tide,  though  I  have  been  from 
my  childhood  a  strong  swimmer.  Hut  tliis  morning  being  calmer,  I 
succeeded,  and  crossed  the  'broad  Hellespont'  in  an  hour  and  ten 
linutes." 

Shortly  after  his  return  to  England  he  published  the  firj^t  two  cantos 
of  "  Childe  Harold,"  which  he  had  written  while  abroad.  KThc  work  was 
received  with  universal  applause,  and  Byron  was  at  once  recognized  as 
a  poet  of  the  first  rank.  "I  woke  one  morning,"  says  he  in  his  memo- 
randa, "and  found  myself  famous.^ 

Within  the  next  two  years  he  wrote  "The  Giaour,"  "The  Bride  of 
Abydos,"  "  The  Corsair,"  and  "  Lr^ra/'  brilliant  poems,  containing  many 
vivid  pictures  of  scenes  of  beauty  with  which  the  author  had  become 
familiar  during  his  travels  in  the  East.  About  this  time  (1815)  the  poet 
married  Miss  Milbaiike,  a  lady  of  rank  and  fortune,  daughter  of  Sir 
^^TTaTph  Milbanke.  The  union  was  brief  and  unhappy.  One  year  after 
their  marriage  they  separated,  and  Byron  left  England  never  to  return. 

The  remainder  of  the  poet's  life  was  spent  chiefly  in  Switzerland  and 
Italy,  amid  those  beauties  of  nature  and  art  which  he  describes  so  well 
in  his  poems.  His  industry  in  literary  work  during  these  years  (from 
1816  to  1823)  was  remarkable.  Besides  completing  "  Childe  Harold,"  he 
produced  a  great  number  of  poems,  translations,  and  plays,  including 
"  The  Prisoner  of  Chillon,"  "Manfred,"  "  Beppo,"  "  Mazeppa,"  "The 
Lament  of  Tasso,"  "  Sardanapalus,"  '*  The  Vision  of  Judgment," 
'•Heaven  and  Earth,"  "  Cam,"  "  Werner,"  "The  Island,"  "  Don  Juan," 
and  several  others. 

/  Byron  was  an  ardent  lover  of  liberty,  and  it  was  this  passion  which  led 
nim  into  the  enterpi'ise  that-  cost  liim  his  life.  In  1828  he  sailed  to  Greece 
^a4oin  the  jjatriots  there  who  were  at  the  time  engaged  in  a  struggle  to 
free  their  country  from  the  oppressive  rule  of  Turkey,  to  whicli  it  had 
been  subject  since  the  fifteenth  century,  when  the  Turks,  or  Ottomans, 
a  warlike  people  of  Asia,  led  by  their  King,  or  Sultan,  Mohammed  II., 


IXTRODUCTIOX.  5 

besieged  and  captured  Constantinople,  conquered  a  great  part  of  south- 
eastern Europe,  including  the  countries  now  known  as  Turkey  and  Greece. 
The  Greeks  made  many  attempts  to  shake  off  the  yoke  of  Turkey, 
With  the  aid  of  Russia,  France,  and  England  they  succeeded  in  1828, 
and  since  1832  their  country  has  been  an  independent  kingdom.  The 
action  of  Lord  Byron  had  much  to  do  in  arousing  European  and  Amer- 
ican sympathy  in  their  behalf!  He  flung  himself  into  the  movement  with 
the  enthusiasm  of  a  generous^  nature,  giving  a  large  sum  of  money,  as 
well  as  his  personal  service,  in  aid  of  the  cause  of  Greek  independence. 
But  he  did  not  live  to  witness  its  success.  A  severe  cold,  contracted 
through  exposure  to  rain,  brought  on  an  attack  of  fever  and  rheumatism, 
of  which  he  died  at  Missolonghi,  Greece,  on  April  19,  1824,  speaking  in 
his  last  moments  of  his  wife  and  only  child,  a  daughter  whom  he  tenderly 
loved.     His  body  was  conveyed  to  England,  and  interred  in  the  family 

. /<^ult  in  the  church  of  Hucknall,  near  Xewstead.) 

^"-^yron  was  a  man  of  hot  and  violent  temper^^yhich  was  aggravated  by 
domestic  troubles,  as  well  as  by  physical  infirmity,  an  accident  at  his 
birth  having  injured  one  of  his  feet  and  caused  lameness  for  life.  The 
effect  on  his  mind  and  character  of  these  and  other  unfavorable  circum- 
stances is  manifest  in  much  of  his  writing.  Still  more,  however,  are  the 
noble  qualities  of  the  man  shown  forth  in  his  works — his  affectionate 
nature,  his  hatred  of  wrong,  his  love  of  rigJit  and  justice,  and  his  sym- 
pathy with  the  oppressed  in  every  land. 


^^-O 


The    Prisoner   op   Chillon .        .7 

Mazeppa 21 

Childe  Harold 45 


THE  PRISOJsTER   OF  CHILLO:^. 

A  FABLE. 

SOXXET   ON   CHILLOX. 

Eternal  Spirit  of  the  cliainless  Mind  I 
Brightest  in  dungeons,  Liberty  I  thoa  art, 
For  there  thy  habitation  is  the  heart — 

The  heart  which  love  of  thee  alone  can  bind  ; 

And  when  thy  sons  to  fetters  are  consigned —     ^ 
To  fetters,  and  the  damp  vault's  dayless  gloom,   c 
Their  country  conquers  with  their  martyrdom,    c_ 

And  Freedom's  fame  finds  wings  on  every  wind.     ^ 

Chillon  I  thy  prison  is  a  holy  place, 

And  thy  sad  floor  an  altar — for  'twas  trod, 

Until  his  very  steps  have  left  a  trace, 

^      Worn,  as  if  thy  cold  pavement  were  a  sod, 

By  Bonniyard  I '     May  none  those  marks  efface  ! 
For  they  appeal  from  tyranny  to  God. 

Byron  wrote  this  poem  in  1S16,  at  a  small  inn.  in  the  village  of  Ouchy.  near  Lausanne, 
a  citv  of  Switzerland,  on  the  shore  of  Lake  Geneva  (also  called  Lake  Leman)  The 
ca«tle  and  fortress  of  Chillon.  which  was  for  a  long  time  a  state  prison,  is  at  the  east 
end  of  the  lake  It  is  situated  on  a  rock  which  is  almost  entirely  surrounded  by  deep 
water  and  connected  with  the  shore  by  a  wooden  bridge.  The  prisoners  introduced  in 
the  posm  are  fictitious  persons,  sugsrested  to  the  imagination  of  the  poet  by  the  appear- 
ance of  the  isolated  castle,  and  no  doubt  by  his  reading  of  the  suflferings  to  which  many 
people  were  subjected  for  their  religious  opinions  in  past  times  when  the  principle  of 
liberty  of  conscience  was  little  understood  or  respected. 

1.     v^ 

My  hair  is  gray,  but  not  with  years, 

Nor  grew  it  white 

In  a  single  night. 
As  men's  have  grown  from  sudden  fears  : 

1  FranQois  de  Bonnivard  (born  1496)  was  the  patriot  defender  of  the  Republic  of  Gen- 
eva (Switzerland)  against  the  Duke  of  Savoy,  who  imprisoned  him  for  six  years  in  the 
Castle  of  Chillon,  the  last  four  in  that  subterranean  vault  which  the  genius  of  Byron  has 
made  famous.  j     i  o.  »  •»  «      »  b'.    *'* 


8  TUK    PRISONEU   OF   CHILLON. 

My  linihs  arc  bowM,  thougli  not  witli  toil. 

But  rusted  with  a  vile  repose, 
For  they  liave  been  a  dungeoii^s  spoil  ; 

And  mine  has  been  the  fate  of  tliose 
'I'o  wlioni  the  goodly  earth  and  air 
Are  bann'd,  and  barr'd — forbidden  fare  ; 
But  this  was  for  my  father's  faith  : 
I  sufl'er'd  chains  and  courted  death  : 
That  father  perish^  at  the  stake  * 
For  tenets'^  he  would  not  forsake  ; 
And  for  the  same  his  lineal  race 
In  darkness  found  a  dwelling  place. 
AVe  were  seven — who  now  are  one  ; 

Six  in  youth,  and  one  in  age, 
Finished  as  they  had  begun, 

Proud  of  Persecution's  rage  ; 
One  in  fire,  and  two  in  field/ 
Their  belief  with  blood  have  seal'd  ; 
Dying  as  their  father  died. 
For  the  God  their  foes  denied  : 
Three  were  in  a  dungeon  cast. 
Of  whom  this  wreck  *  is  left  the  last. jicrf^ 


II.  OYYlA 

Tiiere  are  seven  pillars  of  Gothic  mold  * 
In  Chillon's  dungeons  deep  and  old  ; 
There  are  seven  columns,  massy  and  gray. 
Dim  with  a  dull  imprison'd  ray, 
A  sunbeam  which  hath  lost  its  w^ay. 
And  through  the  crevice  and  the  cleft 
Of  tlie  thick  wall  is  fallen  and  left, 

'  tlip  piece  of  wood  1o  which  a  person  condemned  to  dcalh  by  firo  wap  bound  while 
burning. 

2  religions  opinions.  '  flic  l)af Ue-field. 

*  Uic  prisoner.  ^  in  llie  rjothi^.stlyle'-with  pointed  arches. 


c,    t     ,    t     c 


THE    PEISOXER   OF    CHILLOX. 

Creeping  o^er  the  floor  so  damp. 
Like  a  marsh's  meteor  lamp  :  * 
And  in  each  pillar  there  is  a  ring, 

And  in  each  ring  there  is  a  chain  ; 
That  iron  is  a  cankering  thing, 

For  in  these  limbs  its  teeth  remain, 
With  marks  that  will  not  wear  away. 
Till  I  have  done  with  this  new  day. 
Which  now  is  painfnl  to  these  eyes, 
Which  have  not  seen  the  snn  so  rise 
For  years — I  cannot  count  them  o'er, 
I  lost  their  long  and  heayx-score, 
When  my  last  brother  droop'd  and  died, 
And  I  lay  living  by  his  side. 


'     III.      y>-^ 

They  chain'd  us  each  to  a  column  stone^ 
And  we  were  three — yet,  each  alone  ; 
We  could  not  move  a  single  pace. 
We  could  not  see  eacli  other's  face, 
But  with  that  pale  and  livid  light 
That  made  us  strano-ers  in  our  sisfht  : 
And  thus  together,  yet  apart — 
Fetter'd  in  hand,  but  joined  in  heart — 
'Twas  still  some  solace,  in  the  deartli 
Of  the  pure  elements  of  earth. 
To  hearken  to  each  other's  speech. 
And  each  turn  comforter  to  each. 
With  some  new  hope,  or  legend  old. 
Or  song  heroically  bold  ; 
But  even  these  at  length  grew  cold. 
Our  voices  took  a  dreary  tone. 
An  echo  of  the  dungeon-stone, 

1  the  phosphonis  that  shines  from  a  marsh,  jjopularly  called  "  will-o'-the-wisp." 


10  THK    PRISONER    OF    CHILLON. 

A  gniliiig  souiul— nut  I'lill  iuid  free 
As  they  of  yore  were  wont  to  be  : 
It  might  be  fancy — but  to  nie  » 

They  never  sounded  like  our  own. 

IV.    ^ 

I  was  tlie  eldest  of  the  three, 

And  to  uphold  and  cheer  the  rest 
\  ought  to  do — and  did  my  best — 
And  each  did  well  in  his  degree. 

The  youngest,  whom  my  father  loved. 
Because  our  mother's  brow  was  given 
To  him,'  with  eyes  as  blue  as  heaven. 
For  him  my  soul  was  sorely  moved  : 
And  truly  might  it  be  distrest 
To  see  such  bird  in  such  a  nest ; 
For  he  was  beautiful  as  day — 
(When  day  \vas,beautiful  to  me 
As  tn  voung  eagles,  being  free) — 
A  polar  day,  which  will  not  sqcY 
A  sunset  till  its  summer's  gone,V 

Its  sleepless  summer  of  long  light. 
The  snow-clad  offs2:>ring  of  the  sun  : 

And  thus  he  Avas  as  pure  and  bright. 
And  in  his  natural  spirit  gay, 
With  tears  for  nought  but  others'  ills,  • 
And  then  they  flow'd  like  mountain  rills, 
ITnless  he  could  assuaa^e  the  woe  '  •  ' 

Which  he  abhorr'd  to  view  below. 


V. 


/ 


The  other  was  as  pure  of  mind, 

But  formM  to  combat  with  his  kind  ; 

'  he  resembled  his  mother  in  face. 

2  at  the  poles  theeuu  never  sets  during  tlie  summer  months. 


THE  PRISONER  OF  CHILLOX.  11 

Strong  in  his  frame,  and  of  a  mood 
\Yhich  'gainst  the  world  in  war  had  stood/ 
And  perish'd  in  the  foremost  rank 

AVith  joy  : — but  not  in  chains  to  pine; 
His  spirit  wither'd  with  tlieir  cUmk, 

I  saw  it  silently  decline — 

And  so  ]3erchance  in  sooth  did  mine; 
But  yet  I  forced  it  on  to  cheer 
Those  relics  of  a  home  so  dear. 
He  was  a  hunter  of  the  hills, 

Had  followed  there  the  deer  and  wolf: 

To  him  this  dungeon  was  a  gulf. 
And  fetter'd  feet  the  worst  of  ills.         ^rL^  ' 


Lake  Leman  lies  by  Chillon's  walls : 
A  thousand  feet  in  depth  below 
Its  massy  waters  meet  and  flow; 
Thus  much  the  fathom -line  was  sent 
Erom  Chillon's  snow-white  battlement, 

Which  round  about  the  wave  enthralls 
A  double  dungeon  wall  and  wave 
Have  made — and  like  a  livino-  orrave. 
Below  the  surface  of  the  lake 
The  dark  vault  lies  wherein  we  lay. 
We  heard  it  ripple  night  and  day  ; 
Sounding  o'er  our  heads  it  knock 'd  ; 
And  I  have  felt  the  winter's  spray 
Wash  through  the  bars  when  winds  were  high 
And  wanton^  in  the  happy  sky. 

And  then  the  very  rock  hath  rock'd, 

And  I  have  felt  it  shake,  unshock'd, 
Because  I  could  have  smiled  to  see 
The  death  that  would  have  set  me  free. 

1  would  gladly  have  stood.  ^  blowing  freely  without  conetraint. 


12  THE    PRISONER    OF   CHILLON. 


VI  r. 

I  said  my  nearer  brother  pined, 
I  said  his  miglity  heart  declined, 
lie  loathed  and  put  away  his  food; 
It  was  not  that  *twas  coarse  and  rude. 
For  we  were  used  to  hunter's  fare. 
And  for  the  like  liad  little  care; 
The  milk  drawn  from  the  mountain  goat 
Was  changed  for  waiter  from  the  moat. 
Our  bread  was  such  as  captives^  tears 
Have  moistened  many  a  thousand  years. 
Since  man  first  pent  his  fellow-men 
Like  brutes  within  an  iron  den: 
But  what  were  these  to  us  or  him? 
These  wasted  not  his  heart  or  limb; 
I^Iy  brother's  soul  was  of  that  mold 
Which  in  a  joalace  had  grown  cold, 
Had  his  free  breathinsr  been  denied 
The  range  of  the  steep  mountain's  side; 
But  why  delay  the  truth? — he  died. 
I  saw,  and  could  not  hold  his  head, 
Kor  reach  his  dying  hand- — nor  dead. 
Though  hard  I  strove,  but  strove  in  vain. 
To  rend  and  gnash  my  bonds  in  twain. 
He  died — and  they  unlocked  his  chain 
And  scoo23'd  for  him  a  shallow  grave 
Even  from  the  cold  earth  of  our  cave. 
I  begg'd  them,  as  a  boon,  to  lay 
His  corse  in  dust  whereon  the  day 
Might  shine — it  was  a  foolish  thought. 
But  then  within  my  brain  it  wrought. 
That  even  in  death  his  freeborn  breast 
In  such  a  dungeon  could  not  rest. 
I  might  have  spared  my  Idle  prayer — 
They  coldly  laughed — and  laid  him  there. 


THE    PRISOXER    OF    CIIILLOX.  13 

The  flat  and  turfless  eartli  above 
The  being  we  so  much  did  love  ; 
His  empty  chain  above  it  leant 
Such  murders  fitting  monument! 

vrii.      .'^^-"^ 


But  he,  the  favorite  and  the  flower. 

Most  cherish 'd  since  his  natal  hour/ 

His  mother's  image  in  fair  face. 

The  infant  love  of  all  his  race. 

His  martyr'd  father's  dearest  thought. 

My  latest  care,  for  whom  I  sought 

To  hoard  mv  life,  that  his  miorht  be 

Less  wretched  now,  and  one  day  free; 

He,  too,  who  yet  had  held  untired 

A  spirit  natural  or  inspired — 

He,  too,  was  struck,  and  day  by  day. 

Was  withei-^d  on  the  stalk  awav./ 

Oh  God  I  it  is  a  fearful  thing 

To  see  the  human  soul  take  wingf 

In  any  shape,  in  any  mood: 

I've  seen  it  rushing  forth  in  blood, 

I've  seen  it  on  the  breaking  ocean 

Strive  with  a  swoln  convulsive  motion, 

I've  seen  the  sick  and  ghastly  bed 

Of  Sin  delirious  with  its  dread: 

But  these  were  horrors — this  was  woe 

Unmix'd  with  such — but  sure  and  slow: 

He  faded,  and  so  calm  and  meek. 

So  softly  worn,  so  sweetly  weak. 

So  tearless,  yet  so  tender — kind. 

And  grieved  for  those  he  }elt  behind; 

"With  all  the  while  a  cheek  whose  bloom 

Was  as  a  mockery  of  the  tomb, 

^  hour  of  birth. 


14  THE    PRISONER   OF    CHILLOX. 

W  liosL'  lints  as  gently  sunk  iiwiiy 

As  a  departing  rainbow's  ray — 

An  eye  of  jnost  transparent  light, 

That  almost  made  the  dungeon  briirht. 

And  not  a  word  of  murmur — not 

A  groan  o'er  his  untimely  lot, — 

A  little  talk  of  better  days, 

A  little  hope  my  own  to  raise. 

For  I  was  sunk  in  silence — lost 

In  this  last  loss,  of  all  the  most; 

And  then  the  sighs  he  would  suppress 

Of  fainting  nature's  feebleness. 

More  slowly  drawn,  grew  less  and  less; 

I  listened,  but  I  could  not  hear — 

I  caird,  for  I  was  wild  with  fear;     ■ 

I  knew  'twas  hopeless,  but  my  dread 

Would  not  be  thus  admonished; 

I  caird,  and  thought  I  heard  a  sound — 

I  burst  my  chain  with  one  strong  bound. 

And  rush'd  to  him  :— I  found  him  not, 

/  only  stirr'd  in  this  black  spot, 

/only  lived — /only  drew 

The  accursed  breath  of  dungeon  dew; 

The  last — the  sole — the  dearest  link 

Between  me  and  the  eternal  brink, 

AYhich  bound  me  to  my  failing  race, 

AVas  broken  in  this  fatal  place.' 

One  on  the  earth,  and  one  beneath — 

My  brothers — botli  had  ceased  to  breathe. 

I  took  that  hand  which  lay  so  still, 

Alas  !  my  own  was  full  as  chill; 

I  had  not  strength  to  stir,  or  strive, 

But  felt  that  I  was  still  alive — 

'  "  The  gentle  decay  and  gradual  extinction  of  the  youngest  life  is  the  most  tender  and 
beautiful  passage  in  the  poem.'"— Jff/ei/. 


THE   PRISONER    OF    CHILLON.  '  15 


A  frautic  feeling,  when  we  know 
That  what  we  love  shall  ne'er  be  so. 

I  know^  not  why 

I  could  not  die, 
I  had  no  earthly  hope  but  faith, 
And  that  forbade  a -selfish  death. 


IX.   <?v,.^.JC 

"What  next  befell  me  then  and  there 
I  know  noC  well — I  never  knew. — 
First  came  the  loss  of  lio-ht  and  air. 

And  then  of  darkness  too  : 
I  had  no  thought,  no  feeling — none — 
Among  the  stones  I  stood  a  stone. 
And  was.  scarce  conscious  what  I  wist,* 
As  shrubless  crags  within  the  mist  ; 
For  all  was  blank,  and  bleak,  and  gray. 
It  was  not  night — it  was  not  day. 
It  was  not  even  the  dungeon-light. 
So  hateful  to  mv  heavy  sio;ht. 
But  vacancy  absorbing  space. 
And  fixedness — without  a  place: 
There  were  no  stars — no  earth — no  time — 
^0  check — no  change — no  good — no  crime — 
But  silence,  and  a  stirless  breath 
Which  neither  was  of  life  nor  death; 
A  sea  of  stas^nant  idleness, 
Blind,  boundless,  mute,  and  motionless  I 

X. 

A  light  broke  in  upon  my  brain, — 

It  was  the  carol  of  a  bird; 
It  ceased,  and  then  it  came  again. 

The  sweetest  song  ear  ever  heard, 

1  knew. 


16  TIIF-:    PRTSOXER    OF    CIITLT.ON. 

And  iiiiiio  WHS  tliankfiil  till  my  eyes 

llaii  over  with  the  glad  surprise, 

And  they  that  moment  could  not  see 

I  was  the  mate  of  misery; 

liut  then  by  dull  degrees  came  back 

My  senses  to  their  wonted  track, 

1  saw  the  dungeon  walls  and  lloor 

Close  slowly  round  me  as  before, 

I  saw  the  glimmer  of  the  sun 

Creeping  as  it  before  had  done, 

But  through  the  crevice  where  it  came 

That  bird  was  perch'd,  as  fond  and  tame. 

And  tamer  than  upon  the  tree; 
A  lovely  bird,  with  azure  wings, 
And  song  that  said  a  thousand  things. 

And  seem'd  to  say  them  all  for  me  ! 
I  never  saw  its  like  before, 
I  ne'er  shall  see  its  likeness  more. 
It  seem'd,  like  me,  to  want  a  mate. 
But  was  not  half  so  desolate. 
And  it  was  come  to  love  me  Avhen 
None  lived  to  love  me  so  again, 
And  cheerino:  from  mv  dung-eon's  brink. 
Had  brought  me  back  to  feel  and  think. 
I  know  not  if  it  late  were  free, 

Or  broke  its  cage  to  perch  on  mine. 
But  knowing  well  captivity, 

S^veet  bird  !  I  could  not  wish  for  thine  ! 
Or  if  it  were,  in  winged  guise, 
A  visitant  from  Parjidise; 
For-^-lIeaven  forgive  that  thought  !  the  while 
AVhich  made  me  both  to  weep  and  smile — 
I  sometimes  deem'd  tliat  it  might  be 
My  brother's  soul  come  down  to  me; 
But  then  at  last  awav  it  ilew. 


THE    PRISONER    OF    CHILLOX.  17 

And  then  ^twas  mortal — well  I  knew. 
For  be  would  iiever  thus  liave  flown. 
And  left  me  twice  so  doubly  lone, — 
Lone — as  tlie  corse  witbin  its  sliroud. 
Lone — as  a  solitary  cloud. 

A  single  cloud  on  a  sunny  day, 
AVhile  all  the  rest  of  beaven  is  clear, 
A  frown  upon  tbe  atmospbere. 
That  bath  no  business  to  appear 

When  skies  are  blue,"  and  earth  is  gay. 

XI. 

A  kind  of_c]xa£ige  came  in  my  fate, 
My  keepers  grew  compassionate, 
I  know  not  what  bad  made  tliem  so, 
They  were  inured  to  sights  of  woe, 
But  so  it  was  : — my  broken  chain 
With  links  unfastenM  did  remain. 
And  it  was  liberty  to  stride 
Along  my  cell  from  side  to  side, 
And  up  and  down,  and  then  atbwart. 
And  tread  it  over  every  part: 
And  round  tbe  pillars  one  by  one, 
\  Returning  where  my  walk  begun, 
Avoiding  only,  as  I  trod. 
My  brotbers'  graves  without  a  sod; 
For  if  I  thought  witb  beedless  tread 
My  step  profaned  tbeir  lowly  bed. 
My  breath  came  gaspingly  and  thick, 
And  my  crushed  heart  fell  blind  and  sick. 

XII. 

I  made  a  footing  in  tbe  wall, 

It  was  not  therefrom  to  escape, 
For  I  had  buried  one  and  all. 

Who  loved  me  in  a  human  shape; 
2 


IB  TliE   PRISONER   OF   CHILLON. 

Alul  tlic  whole  cai-th  woiilil  Jiciifufortli  be 

A  wider  ])ri.so]i  unto  mo: 

No  child  —  no  sire — no  kin  h;id  I, 

Ko  partner  in  my  misery; 

I  thonp:ht  of  this,  iind  I  was  o-lad 

For  thought  of  them  had  nuide  me  mad; 

But  I  was  curious  to  ascend 

To  my  barrM  windows,  and  to  bend 

Once  more,  upon  the  mountains  high. 

The  quiet  of  a  loving  eye. 

XIII. 

I  saw  them — and  they  were  the  same. 
They  were  not  changed  like  me  in  frame; 
I  saw  their  thousand  years  of  snow 
On  high — their  wide,  long  lake  below. 
And  the  blue  llhone  '  in  fullest  flow: 
I  lieard  the  torrents  leap  and  gusli 
O'er  channeird  rock  and  broken  bush; 
I  saw  the  white- wall'd  distant  town, 
And  whiter  sails  go  skimming  down; 
And  then  there  was  a  little  isle,' 
AVhich  in  my  very  face  did  smile. 

The  only  one  in  view. 
A  small  green  isle,  it  seem'd  no  more. 
Scarce  broader  than  my  dungeon  floor. 
But  in  it  there  were  three  tall  trees. 
And  o'er  it  blew  the  mountain  l)reeze. 
And  by  it  there  were  waters  flowing, 
And  on  it  there  were  young  flowers  growing. 

Of  gentle  breath  and  hue. 
The  fish  swam  by  the  castle  wall, 
And  they  seem'd  joyous  each  and  all: 

'  Till"  liver  HlioiK!  flows  tlirouyh  Lake  Geneva. 

2  There  in  a  t^inall  island  between  the  entrances  of  tlie  Rhone  and  Villeneuvc.  a  town  at 
the  extremity  of  the  lake. 


THE    PRISONER   OF    CHILI.OX.  19 

The  eagle  rode  the  rising  blast, 
Methought  he  never  flew  so  fast. 
As  then  to  me  he  seem'd  to  fly. 
And  then  new  tears  came  in  my  eye. 
And  I  felt  troubled — and  would  fain 
I  had  not  left  my  recent  chain. 
And  when  I  did  descend  again, 
The  darkness  of  my  dim  abode 
Fell  on  me  as  a  heavy  load; 
It  was  as  is  a  new-dug  grave,- 
Closing  o'er  one  we  sought  to  save; 
And  yet  my  glance,  too  much  oppress'd. 
Had  almost  need  of  such  a  rest. 


V,^ 


It  might  be  months,  or  years,  or  days, 

I  kept  no  count — I  took  no  note, 
I  had  no  hope  my  eyes  to  raise 

And  clear  them  of  their  dreary  mote; 
At  last  men  came  to  set  me  free, 

I  ask'd  not  why,  and  reck'd  not  where; 
It  was  at  length  the  same  to  me, 
Fetter'd  or  fetterless  to  be — 

I  learn'd  to  love  despair. 
And  thus  when  they  appear'd  at  last. 
And  all  my  bonds  aside  were  cast. 
These  heavy  walls  to  me  had  grown 
A  hermitage — and  all  my  own  I 
And  half  I  felt  as  they  were  come 
To  tear  me  from  a  second  home: 
AVitli  spiders  I  had  friendship  made. 
And  watch'd  them  in  their  sullen  trade; 
Had  seen  the  mice  by  moonlight  play. 
And  why  should  I  feel  less  than  thev  ? 


20  THE    PRISONER    OF   CHTLLON. 

Wo  wore  all  inmates  of  one  place, 
And  1,  the  monarch  of  each  race, 
Had  power  to  kill— yet,  strange  to  tell  ! 
In  quiet  we  had  learn'd  to  dwell: 
My  very  chains  and  1  ^rew  friends. 
So  much  a  Jon^  communion  tends 
To  make  us  what  we  are  : — even  I 
Regain'd  my  freedom  with  a  sigh. 


MAZEPPA. 


This  poem  is  founded  on  historical  facts.  Mazeppa  was  a  native  of  Poland.  In  his 
youth  he  became  a  page  in  the  service  of  John  Casimir,  the  king  of  that  country.  For  an 
bffence  against  a  Polish  count  he  was  bound  naked  to  the  back  of  a  wild  horse,  his  head 
turned  tolts  tail,  and  the  animal  was  then  sent  olf,  leaving  the  unfortunate  Mazeppa  to 
his  fate.  He  afterwards  became  a  chief  among  the  Cossacks,  a  semi-barbarous  people  of 
southern  Russia.  He  joined  Charles  XII.,  the  famous  King  of  Sweden,  in  his  war  with 
Peter  the  Creat,  Czar  of  Russia,  and  was  present  at  the  battle  of  Pultowa  (Russia)  in  1709, 
iu  which  Charles  was  defeated. 

On  these  facts  the  genius  and  imagination  of  Byron  have  constructed  the  thrilling 
story  represented  in  the  poem  as  having  been  related  by  Mazeppa  to  King  Charles,  while 
resting  in  a  forest  ou  their  retreat  after  the  disastrous  battle. 


I. 

'TwAS  after  dread  Pultowa's  day, 

When  fortune  left  the  royal  Swede, 
Around  a  slaughtered  army  lay, 

ISTo  more  to  combat  and  to  bleed. 
The  power  and  glory  of  the  war. 

Faithless  as  their  vain  votaries,  men, 
Had  pass'd  to  the  triumphant  Czar, 

And  Moscow's  '  avails  were  safe  again, 
Until  a  day  more  dark  and  drear, 
And  a  more  memorable  year/ 
Should  give  to  slaughter  and  to  shame 
A  mightier  host  and  haughtier  name  ;  '"* 
A  greater  wreck,  a  deeper  fall, 
'A  shock  to  one — a  thunderbolt  to  all. 

J  Moscow  was  formerly  the  capital  of  Russia. 

2  the  year  1812,  when  Napoleon  Bonaparte  invaded  Russia  and  entered  Moscow  with  a 
great  army.  He  soon  found,  however,  that  he  had  conquered  nothing  but  a  heap  of  ashes, 
the  Russians  having  set  fire  to  the  city  on  the  night  of  his  arrival  to  force  the  invaders  to 
retire.  On  their  retreat  from  the  country,  thousands  of  the  French  perished  of  cold  and 
hunger.  Napoleon  himself  escaping  only  with  much  difficulty. 

3  Napoleon  and  his  army. 


22  MAZEPPA. 


II. 


Siicli  was  the  hazard  of  tlie  die  !  ' 

The  wounded  Charles  was  tauii^lit  to  fly 

By  day  and  night  through  field  and  flood, 

Stain'd  witli  his  own  and  subjects'  blood; 

For  thousands  fell  that  flight  to  aid: 

And  not  a  voice  was  heard  t'  upbraid 

Ambition  in  his  humbled  hour. 

When  truth  had  naught  to  dread  from  power. 

llis  horse  was  slain,  and  Gieta^  gave 

His  own — and  died  the  Ilussians'  slave. 

This  too  sinks  after  many  a  league 

Of  well-sustainM  but  vain  fatigue; 

And  in  the  depths  of  forests,  darkling 

The  watch-flres  in  the  distance  sparkling — 

The  beacons  of  surrounding  foes — 
A  king  must  lay  his  limbs  at  length. 

Are  these  the  laurels  and  repose 
For  which  the  nations  strain  their  strength  ? 
'^I'hey  laid  him  by  a  savage  tree. 
In  outworn  nature's  agony; 
His  wounds  were  stiff — his  limbs  were  stark — 
The  heavy  hour  was  chill  and  dark; 
The  fever  in  his  blood  forbade 
A  transient  slumber's  fitful  aid : 
And  thus  it  was  ;  but  yet  tlirough  all, 
Kinglike  the  monarch  bore  his  fall, 
And  made,  in  this  extreme  of  ill, 
His  pangs  the  vassals^  of  his  will  : 
All  silent  and  subdued  were  they, 
As  once  the  nations  round  him  lay. 

-  eincnilar  of  dice,  little  cubes  used  in  games  of  chance.    War  is  here  likened  to  a  gam* 
played  with  dice. 

2  An  ofticer  of  Charles  XII. 

3  slaves. 


MAZEPPA.  23 


III. 


A  band  of  cliiefs  I — alas  I  how  few. 

Since  but  the  fleeting  of  a  day 
Had  thinnM  it  ;  but  this  wreck  was  true 

And  chivalrous  : '  upon  the  clay 
Each  sate  him  down,  all  sad  and  mute, 

Beside  his  monarch  and  his  steed, 
For  danger  levels  man  and  brute. 

And  all  are  fellows  in  their  need. 
Among  the  rest,  Mazeppa  made 
His  pillow  in  an  old  oak's  shade — 
Himself  as  rough,  and  scarce  less  old, 
The  Ukraine's  Hetman  "  calm  and  bold; 
But  first,  outspent  with  tliis  long  course. 
The  Cossack  prince  rubb'd  dow^n  his  horse, 
And  made  for  him  a  leafy  bed. 

And  smooth'd  his  fetlocks  and  his  mane. 

And  slack'd  his  girth,  and  stripp'd  his  rein. 
And  joy'd  to  see  how  well  he  fed; 
For  until  now  he  had  the  dread 
His  wearied  courser  might  refuse 
To  browse  beneath  the  midnight  dews: 
But  he  was  hardy  as  his  lord, 
And  little  cared  for  bed  and  board; 
But  spirited  and  docile  too, 
Whate'er  was  to  be  done,  would  do. 
Shaggy  and  swift,  and  strong  of  limb, 
All  Tartar-like  ^  he  carried  him; 
Obey'd  his  voice,  and  came  to  call. 
And  knew  him  in  the  midst  of  all: 

'  brave  and  loyal. 

3  Mazeppa  \\ as  lietman,  or  commander-ni-chkf,  of  the  Coppacks  of  Ukraine,  a  district 
of  southern  Russia. 

3  Tartary  was  the  name  given  at  one  time  to  the  countries  of  central  Asia  and  eastern 
Europe.    The  Tartars  were  famous  as  horsemen  and  hunters. 


24  MAZEPPA. 

Though  tliousands  were  around, — and  Night, 
Without  a  star,  pursued  her  liight, — 
That  steed  from  sunset  until  (hiwn 
His  chief  would  follow  like  a  fawn. 

IV. 

This  done,  Mazeppa  spread  his  cloak. 
And  laid  his  lance  beneath  his  oak, 
Felt  if  his  arms  in  order  good 
The  long  day^s  march  had  well  withstood — 
If  still  the  powder  fill'd  the  pan. 

And  flints  unloosened  kept  their  lock  ' — 
His  sabre's  hilt  and  scabbard  felt. 
And  whether  they  had  chafed  his  belt — 
And  next  the  venerable  man, 
From  out  his  haversack  and  can." 

Prepared  and  spread  his  slender  stock'* 
And  to  the  monarch  and  his  men 
The  whole  or  portion  offer'd  then 
With  far  less  of  inquietude 
Than  courtiers'*  at  a  banquet  would. 
And  Charles  of  this  his  slender  share 
AVitli  smiles  partook  a  moment  there. 
To  force  of  cheer  a  greater  show, 
And  seem  above  both  wounds  and  woe; 
And  then  he  said — ''  Or  all  our  band, 
Though  firm  of  heart  and  strong  of  hand. 
In  skirmish,  march,  or  forage,  none 
Can  less  have  said  or  more  have  done 
Than  thee,  Mazejopa!     On  the  earth 
So  fit  a  pair  had  never  birth, 

'  Before  the  invention  of  the  percussion  cap,  and  cartridge,  guns  were  fired  by  a  sparlc 
struck  by  a  flint  and  steel  attached  to  tlie  lock  of  the  weapon,  the  powder  being  placed  in 
u  pan  where  it  caught  the  spark. 

'  soldier's  bag  and  drinking  can.  ^  of  eatables. 

••  persons  who  attend  the  courts  of  kings. 


MAZEPPA.  25 

Since  Alexander's  '  days  till  now. 

As  thy  Bucephalus  and  thou: 

All  Scythia's  '  fame  to  thine  should  yield 

For  pricking  on  o'er  flood  and  field/^ 

Mazeppa  answer'd — •'•'111  betide' 

The  school  wherein  I  learn'd  to  ride  ! " 

Quoth  Charles — "  Old  Hetman,  wherefore  so. 

Since  thou  hast  learn'd  the  art  so  well?" 

Mazeppa  said — "'Twere  long  to  tell; 

And  we  have  many  a  league  to  go. 

With  every  now  and  then  a  blow. 

And  ten  to  one  at  least  the  foe, 

Before  our  steeds  may  graze  at  ease. 

Beyond  the  swift  Borysthenes: ' 

And,  sire,"  your  limbs  have  need  of  rest. 

And  I  will  be  the  sentinel 

Of  this  your  troop/'— '•'  But  I  request/' 

Said  Sweden's  monarch,  ••thou  wilt  tell 

This  tale  of  thine,  and  I  may  reap. 

Perchance,  from  this  the  boon  of  sleep; 

For  at  this  moment  from  my  eyes 

The  hope  of  present  slumber  flies." 

"  Well,  sire,  with  such  a  hope  I'll  track 
Mv  seventy  years  of  memory  back : 
I  think  'twas  in  my  twentieth  spring,-- 
Av,  'twas, — when  Casimir  was  king — 
John  Casimir,'— I  was  his  page 
Six  summers  in  my  earlier  age: 

1  Alexander  the  Great,  a  king  of  Macedou  (north  of  Greece),  and  a  celebrated  con- 
queror, born  356  B.C.    He  had  a  famous  horse  named  Bucephalus. 

2  Scythia,  anciently  the  name  of  southern  Russia. 

3  may  evil  happen  to. 

*  ancient  name  of  the  Dnieper  ipron.  nee-per),  a  river  of  Russia,  flowing  into  the  Black 

Sea. 

*  a  word  of  honor  used  in  addre.'^sing  kiuj^s. 
s  see  Introductory  Note. 


26  MAZEPPA. 

A  loariiod  innimrch,  faitli  !  was  lie. 
Ami  most  unlike  your  majesty: 
lie  made  no  wars,  and  did  not  gain 
Xew  realms  to  lose  them  back  again; 

lie  was  the  Polish  Solomon/ 
So  sung  his  poets,  all  but  one, 
AVho,  being  unpension'd,  made  a  satire, 
And  boasted  that  he  could  not  flatter. 
It  was  a  court  of  jousts'*  and  mimes,^ 
AVhere  every  courtier  tried  at  rhymes; 
Even  I  for  once  produced  some  verses, 
And  sign'd  my  odes  ^  Desjiairing  Tliyrsis/^ 
There  was  a  certain  Palatine/ 

A  count  of  far  and  higli  descent. 
Rich  as  a  salt  '^  or  silver  mine  : 
And  he  was  proud,  ye  may  divine, 

As  if  from  heaven  he  had  l)een  sent: 
He  had  such  wealth  in  blood  and  ore 

As  few  could  match  beneath  the  throne; 
And  he  would  gaze  ujion  his  store, 
And  o'er  his  pedigree  would  pore. 
Until  by  some  confusion  led, 
AVliich  almost  look'd  like  want  of  head. 

He  thought  their  merits  ^  were  his  own. 
Ilis  wife  was  not  of  his  opinion ; 

His  junior  she  by  thirty  years. 
Grew  daily  tired  of  his  dominion; 


'  moanintj  that  he  was  a  wise  prince  like  Solomon,  King  of  Israel. 

2  mock  battles. 

3  dramatic  i)lays. 

*  name  sometimes  t,'iven  l).v  ancient  poets  to  shepherds  or  herdsmen. 

*  count. 

*  tlu!  wealth  of  Poland  consiBted  greatly  of  salt  mines. 
'  the  meriLs  of  his  ancestors. 


MAZEPPA.  27 

Y. 

'^  I  was  a  goodly  stripling  then; 

At  seventy  years  I  so  may  say, 
That  there  were  few,  or '  boys  or  men, 

Who.  in  my  dawning  time  of  day. 
Of  vassal  or  of  knight's  degree. 
Could  vie  in  vanities  with  me; 
For  I  had  strength,  youth,  gaiety, 
A  port,^  not  like  to  this  ye  see, 
But  smooth,  as  all  is  rugged  now; 

For  time,  and  care,  and  war  have  plow'd 
My  very  soul  from  out  my  brow; 

And  thus  I  should  be  disavowed 
By  all  my  kind  and  kin  could  they 
Compare  my  day  and  yesterday; 
This  change  was  wrought,  too,  long  ere  age 
Had  ta'en  my  features  for  his  page: 
AVith  years,  ye  know,  have  not  declined 
My  strength,  my  courage,  or  my  mind. 
Or  at  this  hour  I  should  not  be 
Telling  old  tales  beneath  a  tree, 
AVith  starless  skies  my  canopy. 

But  let  me  on.     Theresa's  form — 
Methinks  it  glides  before  me  now. 
Between  me  and  yon  chestnut's  bough. 

The  memory  is  so  quick  and  warm 
And  yet  I  find  no  words  to  tell 
The  shape  of  her  I  loved  so  well. 
She  had  the  Asiatic  eye. 

Such  as  our  Turkish  neighborhood 

Hath  mino^led  with  our  Polish  blood. 
Dark  as  above  us  is  the  sky; 
But  through  it  stole  a  tender  light. 
Like  the  first  moonrise  of  midnight, 

1  either.  '  appearance  and  maimer. 


28  MAZEPPA. 

Large,  dark,  and  swininiing  in  tlie  stream, 
AVliich  seenr'd  to  melt  to  its  own  beam; 
All  love,  half  langnor,  and  half  fire, 
Like  saints  that  at  the  stake  expire, 
And  lift  their  raptured  looks  on  high. 
As  though  it  were  a  joy  to  die. 
A  brow  like  a  midsummer  lake. 

Transparent  with  the  sun  therein, 
AVhen  Avaves  no  murmur  dare  to  make. 

And  heaven  beholds  her  face  within. 
A  cheek  and  lip — but  wjiy  proceed  ? 

I  loved  her  then — I  love  her  still: 
And  such  as  I  am,  love  indeed 

In  fierce  extremes — in  good  and  ill. 
But  still  we  love  even  in  our  rage 
And  haunted  to  our  very  age 
AVith  the  vain  shadow  of  the  past, 
As  is  Mazeppa  to  the  last. 

VIII. 

•  •  •  •  ,  , 

But  one  fair  night,  some  lurking  spies 

Surprised  and  seized  us  both. 

The  Count  Avas  something  more  than  wroth — 

I  was  unarm 'd  ;  but  if  in  steel. 

All  cap-a-pie  '  from  head  to  heel, 

AVhat  'gainst  their  numbers  could  I  do  ? 

'Twas  near  his  castle,  far  away 

From  city  or  from  succor  near. 
And  almost  on  the  break  of  day; 
I  did  not  think  to  see  another, 

Mv  moments  seemed  reduced  to  few; 
And  with  one  prayer  to  Mary  Mother,'^ 

And  it  may  be,  a  saint  or  two, 

*  head  to  foot.     '^  the  mother  of  Christ,  to  whoui  prayers  are  offered  hi  some  churches. 


MAZEPPA. 


29 


As  I  resign^  me  to  my  fate, 
They  led  me  to  the  castle  gate: 

IX. 

j^^^'^riiig  forth  the  horse  ! ' — the  horse  was  brought, 
In  truth,  he  was  a  noble  steed, 
A  Tartar  of  the  Ukraine  breed, 
Who  look'd  as  though  the  speed  of  thought 
Were  in  his  limbs  ;  but  he  was  wild, 

Wild  as  the  wild  deer,  and  untaught. 
With  spur  and  bridle  undefiled — 

'Twas  but  a  day  he  had  been  caught; 
And  snorting,  with  erected  mane. 
And  struggling  fiercely,  but  in  vain. 
In  the  full  foam  of  wrath  and  dread 
To  me  the  desert-born  was  led: 
They  bound  me  on,  that  menial  throng: 
Upon  his  back  with  many  a  thong: 
Then  loosed  him  with  a  sudden  lash- 
Away  I — away  I — and  on  we  dash : 
Torrents  less  rapid  and  less  rash. 

X. 

''  Away  !— away  !— My  breath  was  gone — 
I  saw  not  where  he  hurried  on: 
'Twas  scarcely  yet  the  break  of  day, 
And  on  he  foanrd — away  !— away  ! — 
The  last  of  human  sounds  which  rose. 
As  I  was  darted  from  my  foes, 
Was  the  wild  shout  of  savage  laughter, 
Which  on  the  wind  came  roaring  after 
A  moment  from  that  rabble  rout: 
With  sudden  wrath  I  wrench'd  my  head. 
And  snapp'd  the  cord  which  to  the  mane 
Had  bound  my  neck  in  lieu  of  rein, 
And,  writhing  half  my  form  about, 


30  MAZEPPA. 

lIowlM  1);ic'k  my  curse  ;  iKit  'midst  the  tread;, 
The  tliundcr  of  my  courser's  speed, 
Percluuicc  they  did  not  liear  or  lieed. 
It  vexes  me — for  I  would  fain 
^- — Iliiye  paid  tlieir  insult  back  again. 
I  paid  it  well  in  after  days: 
There  is  not  of  that  castle-gate, 
Its  drawbridge  '  and  portcullis  ^  weight. 
Stone,  bar,  moat,  bridge,  or  barrier  left; 
Nor  of  its  fields  a  blade  of  grass. 

Save  what  grows  on  a  ridge  of  wall, 
AVhere  stood  the  hearth-stone  of  the  hall;' 
And  many  a  time  ye  there  might  pass, 
Xor  dream  that  e'er  that  fortress  was. 
I  saw  its  turrets  in  a  blaze, 
Their  crackling  battlements  all  cleft, 

And  the  hot  lead  pour  down  like  rain 
From  off  the  scorch'd  and  blackening  roof. 
Whose  thickness  was  not  vengeance  proof. ^ 

They  little  thought  that  day  of  jiain. 
AYhen  launch'd,  as  on  the  lightning's  ilashp 
They  bade  me  to  destruction  dash. 

That  one  day  I  should  come  again, 
With  twice  "five  thousand  horse,  to  thank 

The  Count  for  his  uncourteous  ride. 
They  play'd  me  then  a  bitter  prank, 
AVhen,  with  the  wild  horse  for  my  guide. 
They  bound  me  to  his  foaming  fiank; 
At  length  I  playVl  them  one  as  frank — 
For  time  at  last  sets  all  things  even — 

And  if  we  do  but  watch  the  hour. 

There  never  yet  was  human  power 

•  a  bridge  at  the  entrance  to  a  fortre!<(<.  wliicli  may  be  drawn  uj)  and  let  down  at 
pleasure. 

-a  gate  hung  uver  the  entrance  to  a  I'lMlrcss.  wliieli  may  he  let  down  to  keep  out  an 
enemy.  s  t^utlieient  defence  against  vengeance. 


MAZEPPA.  3 1 


Which  could  evade,  if  unforgiven, 
The  patient  search  aud  vigil  ^  long 
Of  him  who  treasures  up  a  wrong. 

XI. 

Lway,  away,  my  steed  and  I, 
Upon  the  pinions  of  the  wind. 
All  human  dwellings  left  behind; 
AVe  sped  like  meteors  through  the  sky. 
When  with  its  crackling  sound  the  night 
Is  checker'd  with  the  northern  light. 
Town — village — none  were  on  our  track. 

But  a  wild  plain  of  far  extent, 
And  bounded  by  a  forest  black; 

And,  save  the  scarce-seen  battlement 
On  distant  heights  of  some  strong  hold. 
Against  the  Tartars  built  of  old, 
No  trace  of  man.     The  year  before 
A  Turkish  army  had  marched  o^er; 
And  where  the  Spahi^s  ^  hoof  hatli  trod. 
The  verdure  flies  the  bloody  sod: 
Tlie^^ky  was  dull,  and  dim,  and  gray. 
And  a  low  breeze  crept  moaning  by — 
I  could  have  answer'd  with  a  sigh — 
But  fast  we  fled,  away,  away. 
And  I  could  neither  sigh  nor  pray; 
And  my  cold  sweat-drops  fell  like  rain 
Upon  the  courser's  bristling  mane; 
But,  snorting  still  with  rage  and  fear. 
He  flew  upon  his  far  career: 
At  times  I  almost  thought,  indeed. 
He  must  have  slacken'd  in  his  speed; 
But  no — my  bound  and  slender  frame 

Was  nothing  to  his  angry  might. 
And  merely  like  a  spur  became; 

^  watch.  -  Spahis,  Turkish  cavalry. 


32  MAZKPPA. 

Each  motion  which  T  made  to  free 
My  swoln  limhs  from  their  agony 
Tncreas'd  his  fury  and  afFriglit: 
I  tried  my  voice, — 'twas  faint  and  low. 
But  yet  he  swerv'd  as  from  a  blow; 
And,  starting  to  each  accent,  sprang 
As  from  a  sudden  trumpet's  chmg; 
Meantime  my  cords  were  wet  with  gore, 
Which,  oozing  through  my  limbs,  ran  o'er; 
And  in  my  tongue  the  thirst  became 
A  something  fierier  far  tliau  flame. 


XII. 


"  We  near'd  the  wild  wood — "twaa  so  wide, 

I  saw  no  bounds  on  either  side: 

'Twas  studded  with  old  sturdy  trees, 

That  bent  not  to  the  roughest  breeze 

Which  howls  down  from  Siberia's  waste,' 

And  strips  the  forest  in  its  haste, — 

But  these  were  few  and  far  between, 

Set  thick  with  shrubs  more  young  and  green 

Luxuriant  with  their  annual  leaves. 

Ere  strown  by  those  autumnal  eves 

That  nip  the  forest's  foliage  dead, 

Discolor'd  with  a  lifeless  red, 

Which  stands  thereon  like  stilfen'd  gore 

Upon  the  slain  when  battle's  o'er. 

And  some  long  winter's  night  hath  shed 

Its  frost  o'er  every  tom bless  head. 

So  cold  and  stark  the  raven's  beak 

May  peck  unpierced  each  frozen  cheek; 

'Twas  a  wnld  Avaste  of  underwood. 

And  here  and  there  a  chestnut  stood, 

'  a  vast  Russian  territory  in  north  Asia. 


MAZEPPA.  33 

The  strong  oak,  and  the  hardy  pine; 

But  far  apart — and  well  it  were. 
Or  else  a  different  lot  were  mine — 

The  boughs  gave  way,  and  did  not  tear 
My  limbs ;  and  I  found  strength  to  bear 
My  wounds,  already  scarr'd  with  cold — 
My  bonds  forbade  to  loose  my  hold. 
We  rustled  through  the  leaves  like  wind. 
Left  shrubs,  and  trees,  and  wolves  behind; 
By  night  I  heard  them  on  the  track. 
Their  troop  came  hard  upon  our  back, 
With  their  long  gallop,  which  can  tire 
The  hound's  deep  hate,  and  hu uteres  fire; 
Where'er  we  flew  they  followed  on, 
Xor  left  us  with  the  morning  sun; 
Behind  I  saw  them,  scarce  a  rood. 
At  daybreak  winding  through  the  wood. 
And  through  the  night  had  heard  their  feet 
Their  stealing,  rustling  stejD  repeat. 
Oh  I  how  I  wish'd  for  spear  or  sword. 
At  least  to  die  amidst  the  horde, ^ 
And  perish — if  it  must  be  so — 
At  bay/  destroying  many  a  foe  I 
When  first  my  courser's  race  begun, 
I  wish'd  the  goal  already  won; 
But  now  I  doubted  strength  and  speed. 
Vain  doubt  !  his  swift  and  savage  breed 
Had  nerved  him  like  the  mountain-roe: 
Xor  faster  falls  the  blinding  snow 
Which  whelms  the  peasant  near  the  door 
Whose  threshold  he  shall  cross  no  more, 
Bewilder'd  with  the  dazzling  blast, 
Th:in  through  the  forest-paths  he  pass'd — 

1  of  wolves. 

'  having  no  means  of  escape,  and  therefore  compelled  to  face  the  enemy  or  pursuer,  as 
a  stag  at  bay. 


34  .  MAZKPPA. 

Uiitired,  untamed,  and  worse  tlian  wild; 
All  furious  as  a  favor'd  child 
Balk'd  of  its  wish  ;  or  fiercer  still — 
A  woman  piqued — who  has  her  will. 

XIII. 

**  The  wood  was  pass'd  ;  'twas  more  than  noon. 

But  chill  the  air,  although  in  June ; 

Or  it  might  be  my  veins  ran  cold — 

Prolonged  endurance  tames  the  bold; 

And  I  was  then  not  what  I  seem, 

But  headlong  as  a  wintry  stream, 

And  wore  my  feelings  out  before 

I  well  could  count  their  causes  o'er: 

And  what  with  fury,  fear,  and  wrath, 

The  tortures  which  beset  my  path, 

Cold,  hunger,  sorrow,  shame,  distress, 

Thus  bound  in  nature's  nakedness; 

Sprung  from  a  race  whose  rising  blood 

AVhen  stirr'd  beyond  its  calmer  mood. 

And  trodden  hard  upon,  is  like 

The  rattlesnake's,  in  act  to  strike. 

What  marvel  if  this  worn-out  trunk 

Beneath  its  Avoes  a  moment  sunk  ? 

The  earth  srave  wav,  the  skies  roll'd  round. 

I  seem'd  to  sink  upon  the  ground; 

lUit  err'd,  for  I  was  fastly  bound. 

My  heart  turn'd  sick,  my  brain  grew  sore 

And  throbb'd  awhile,  then  beat  no  more: 

The  skies  spun  like  a  mighty  wdieel; 

I  saw  the  trees  like  drunkards  reel, 

And  a  slight  flash  sprang  o'er  my  eyes. 

Which  saw  no  farther  :  he  who  dies 

Can  die  no  more  than  then  I  died. 

O'ertortured  by  that  ghastly  ride. 


MAZEPPA.  S5 

I  felt  the  blackness  come  and  go. 

And  strove  to  wake  ;  but  could  not  make 
My  senses  climb  up  from  below: 
I  felt  as  on  a  plank  at  sea, 
AVhen  all  the  waves  that  dash  o'er  thee, 
At  the  same  time  upheave  and  whelm, 
And  hurl  thee  towards  a  desert  realm. 
My  undulating  life  was  as 
The  fancied  lights  that  flitting  pass 
Our  shut  eyes  in  deep  midnight,  when 
Fever  begins  upon  the  brain; 
But  soon  it  pass'd  with  little  pain, 

But  a  confusion  worse  than  such; 

I  own  that  I  should  deem  it  much. 
Dying,  to  feel  the  same  again; 
And  yet  I  do  suppose  we  must 
Feel  far  more  ere  we  turn  to  dust: 
Xo  matter  ;  I  have  bared  my  brow 
Full  in  Death's  face— before— and  now. 

XIV. 

"  My  thoughts  came  back  ;  where  was  I  ?     Cold 
And  numb  and  giddy  :  pulse  by  pulse 

Life  reassumed  its  lingering  hold, 

And  throb  by  throb,— till  grown  a  pang 
Which  for  a  moment  would  convulse, 
My  blood  reflow'd,  though  thick  and  chill : 

My  ear  with  uncouth  noises  rang. 
My  heart  began  once  more  to  thrill, 

My  sight  returned,  though  dim,  alas  I 

And  tiiicken'd,  as  it  were,  with  glass. 

Methought  the  dash  of  waves  was  nigh; 

There  was  a  gleam  too  of  the  sky. 

Studded  with  stars  ;— it  is  no  dream; 

The  wild  horse  swims  the  wilder  stream  ! 


36  MAZEPPA. 

Tlie  briglif,  broad  river's  giisliii)g  tide 
Sweeps,  winding  onward,  far  and  wide. 
And  we  are  lialf-way,  struggling  o'er 
To  yon  unknown  and  silent  shore. 
The  waters  broke  my  hollow  trance. 
And  with  a  temporary  strength 

My  stiffened  limbs  were  rebaptized. 
My  courser's  broad  breast  proudly  braves. 
And  dashes  off  the  ascending  waves. 
And  onward  we  advance  I 
We  reach  the  slippery  shore  at  length, 

A  haven  I  but  little  prized. 
For  all  behind  was  dark  and  drear, 
And  all  before  Avas  night  and  fear. 
How  many  hours  of  night  or  day 
In  those  suspended  pangs  I  lay, 
I  could  not  tell  ;  I  scarcely  knew^ 
If  this  were  human  breath  I  drew. 

XV. 

''  With  glossy  skin,  and  dripping  mane, 
And  reeling  limbs,  and  reeking  flank. 

The  wild  steed's  sinewy  nerves  still  strain 
Up  the  repelling  bank. 

We  gain  the  top  ;  a  boundless  plain 

Spreads  through  the  shadow  of  the  night. 
And  onward,  onward,  onward,  seems, 
Like  precipices  in  our  dreams, 

To  stretch  beyond  the  sight; 

And  here  and  there  a  speck  of  white, 
Or  scatter'd  spot  of  dusky  green, 

In  masses  broke  into  the  lio-ht. 

As  rose  the  moon  upon  my  right: 
But  nought  distinctly  seen 

In  the  dim  waste  w^ould  indicate 

The  omen  of  a  cottage  gate; 


MAZEPPA.  37 

No  twinkling  taper  from  afar 
Stood  like  a  hospitable  star; 
Not  even  an  ignis-fatuus '  rose 
To  make  him  merry  with  my  woes: 

That  very  cheat  had'  cheer'd  me  then: 
Although  detected,  welcome  still, 
Eeminding  me,  through  every  ill. 

Of  the  abodes  of  men. 

XVI. 

"Onward  we  went— but  slack  and  slow; 

His  savage  force  at  length  o'erspent. 
The  drooping  courser,  faint  and  low. 

All  feebly  foaming  went. 
A  sickly  infant  had  had  power 
To  guide  him  forward  in  that  hour; 

But  useless  all  to  me  : 
His  new-born  tameness  nought  avaiFd — 
My  limbs  were  bound  ;  my  force  had  faiFd, 

Perchance,  had  they  been  free. 
With  feeble  effort  still  I  tried 
To  rend  the  bonds  so  starkly  tied. 

But  still  it  was  in  vain; 
My  limbs  were  only  wrung  the  more. 
And  soon  the  idle  strife  gave  o'er. 

Which  but  prolong^I  their  pain: 
The  dizzy  race  seemM  almost  done, 
Although  no  goal  was  nearly  won: 
Some  atreaks  announced  the  coming  sun — 

How  slow,  alas  !  he  came  ! 
Methought  that  mist  of  dawning  gray 
Would  never  dapple  into  day; 
How  heavily  it  roll'd  away — 

Before  tlje  eastern  flame 

1  a  light  that  sometimes  appears  in  the  night  over  marshy  ground,  said  to  be  caused  by 
the  decay  of  animal  or  vegetable  matter— popularly  called  will-o'-the-wisp. 

2  would  have. 


38  MAZKPPA. 

Rose  crimson,  and  deposed  tlie  stars. 
And  call'd  the  radiance  from  their  cars, 
And  fiird  tlie  earth,  from  his  deep  throne. 
With  lonely  lustre,  all  his  own. 

XVII. 

*^Up  rose  the  sun  :  the  mists  were  curl'd 
Back  from  the  solitary  world 
Which  lay  around — behind — before 
What  booted  it  ^  to  traverse  o'er 
Plain,  forest,  river  ?     Man  nor  brute. 
Nor  dint  of  hoof,  nor  print  of  foot. 
Lay  in  the  wild  luxuriant  soil; 
No  sign  of  travel — none  of  toil. 
The  very  air  was  mute; 
And  not  an  insect's  shrill  small  horn. 
Nor  matin  ^  bird's  new  voice  was  borne 
From  herb  nor  thicket.     Many  a  werst,^ 
Panting  as  if  his  heart  would  burst. 
The  wcarv  brute  still  stafi'2:er'd  on; 
And  still  we  were — or  seem'd — alone. 
\^*js^    At  length,  while  reeling  on  our  way, 
Methought  I  heard  a  courser  neigh, 
From  out  yon  tuft  of  blackening  firs. 
Is  it  the  wind  those  branches  stirs  ? 
No,  no  !  from  out  the  forest  prance 

A  trampling  troop  ;  I  see  them  come  ! 
In  one  vast  squadron  they  advance  I 

I  strove  to  cry — my  lips  were  dumb. 
The  steeds  rush  on  in  plunging  pride; 
But  Avhere  are  they  the  reins  to  guide  ? 
A  thousand  horse — and  none  to  ride  ! 

1  what  advantage  was  it  ? 

2  inoniiiig. 

s  a  Russian  measure  of  distance,  somewhat  less  than  three-quarters  of  a  mile. 


MAZEPPA.  39 

With  flowing  tail,  and  ^ying  mane, 
AVide  nostrils — never  stretched  b}^  pain, 
Mouths  bloodless  to  the  bit  or  rein, 
And  feet  that  iron  never  shod, 
And  flanks  nnscarr'd  by  spar  or  rod, 
A  thousand  horse,  the  wild,  the  free, 
Like  waves  that  follow  o'er  tlie  sea,* 

Came  thickly  thundering  on. 
As  if  our  faint  approach  to  meet; 
The  sight  renerved  my  courser's  feet, 
A  moment  staggering,  feebly  fleet, 
A  moment,  with  a  faint  low  neigh, 

lie  answered,  and  then  fell; 
With  gasps  and  glazing  eyes  he  lay. 

And  reeking  limbs  immovable, 
His  first  and  last  career  is  done  ! 
On  came  the  troop — they  saw  him  stoop, 

They  saw  me  strangely  bound  along 

His  back  with  many  a  bloody  thong: 
They  stop — they  start — they  snuff  the  air, 
Gallop  a  moment  here  and  there, 
Approach,  retire,  wheel  round  and  round. 
Then  plunging  back  with  sudden  bound, 
Headed  by  one  black  mighty  steed. 
Who  seem'd  the  patriarch  of  his  breed. 

Without  a  single  speck  or  hair 
Of  white  upon  his  shaggy  hide; 
They  snort — they  foam — neigh — swerve  aside 
And  backward  to  the  forest  fly. 
By  instinct,  from  a  human  eye. 

They  left  me  there  to  my  despair. 
Linked  to  the  dead  and  stiffening  wretch 
Whose  lifeless  limbs  beneath  me  stretch. 
Relieved  from  that  unwonted  weight, 

1  it  was  a  troop  of  wild  horses. 


40  MAZEPPA. 

From  wlionce  I  could  not  extricate 
Nor  him  nor  me — and  tliere  we  lay 

M'lio  dyini;-  on  the  dead  I 
1  little  deem'd  another  day 

Would  see  my  houseless,  helpless  head. 

'*  And  there  from  morn  till  twilight  bound, 

I  felt  the  heavy  hours  toil  round. 

With  just  enough  of  life  to  see 

My  last  of  suns  go  down  on  me, 

In  hopeless  certainty  of  mind, 

That  makes  us  feel  at  length  resigned 

To  that  which  our  foreboding  years 

Present  the  worst  and  last  of  fears: 

Inevitable — even  a  boon, 

Xor  more  unkind  for  coming  soon, 

Yet  shunn'd  and  dreaded  with  such  care. 

As  if  it  only  were  a  snare 

That  prudence  might  escape: 
At  times  both  wish'd  for  and  implored, 
At  times  sought  with  self -pointed  sword, 
Yet  still  a  dark  and  hideous  close 
To  even  intolerable  woes. 

And  w^elcome  in  no  shape. 
And,  strange  to  say,  the  sons  of  pleasure. 
They  who  have  revell'd  beyond  measure 
In  beauty,  wassail,  wino,  and  treasure, 
Die  calm,  and  calmer,  oft  than  he 
AVhose  heritage  was  misery: 
For  he  who  hath  in  turn  run  tlirough 
All  that  was  beautiful  and  new, 

Hath  nought  to  hope,  and  nought  to  leave; 
And,  save  the  future  (which  is  view'd 
Xot  quite  as  men  are  base  or  good. 
But  as  their  nerves  may  be  endued). 


MAZEPPA.  41 

With  nought  perhajDS  to  grieve: 
The  wretch  still  hopes  his  woes  must  end. 
And  Death,  whom  he  shoukl  deem  his  friend. 
Appears,  to  his  distemper'd  eyes. 
Arrived  to  rob  him  of  his  prize. 
The  tree  of  his  new  Paradise. 
To-morrow  would  have  given  him  all, 
Eepaid  his  pangs,  repair d  his  fall; 
To-morrow  would  have  been  the  first 
Of  days  no  more  deplored  or  curst. 
But  bright,  and  long,  and  beckoning  years. 
Seen  dazzlino;  throuo-h  the  mist  of  tears. 
Guerdon  of  many  a  painful  hour; 
To-morrow  would  liave  given  him  power 
To  rule,  to  shine,  to  smite,  to  save — 
And  must  it  dawn  npon  his  grave  ? 

XVIII. 

*•'  The  sun  was  sinkino- — still  I  lav 

ChainM  to  the  chill  and  stiffening  steed; 
I  thought  to  mingle  there  our  clay; 

And  my  dim  eyes  of  death  had  need, 

Xo  hope  arose  of  being  freed: 
I  cast  my  last  looks  uj)  the  sky. 

And  there  between  me  and  the  sun 
I  saw  the  expecting  raven  fly, 
"Who  scarce  would  wait  till  both  should  die. 

Ere  his  repast  begun; 
He  flew,  and  perch'd,  then  flew  once  more. 
And  each  time  nearer  than  before; 
I  saw  his  wing  through  twilight  flit. 
And  once  so  near  me  he  alit, 

I  could  have  smote,  but  lackVl  the  strength; 
But  the  slight  motion  of  my  hand, 
And  feeble  scratching  of  the  sand, 


42  MAZEPPA. 

Tlie  exerted  throat's  faint  struggling  noise 
AVliicli  scarce!}'  conld  be  callM  a  voice, 

'I''ogether  scared  him  olT  at  length. 
I  know  no  more — my  latest  dream 

Is  something  of  a  lovely  star 

AYhich  iix\I  my  dull  eyes  from  afar, 
And  went  and  came  with  wandering  beam. 
And  of  the  cold^  dull,  swimming,  dense 

Sensation  of  recurring  sense, 
And  then  subsiding  back  to  death. 
And  then  a^'ain  a  little  breath, 
A  little  thrill,  a  short  suspense. 
An  icy  sickness  curdling  o'er 
My  heart,  and  sparks  that  cross'd  nn-  brain, 
A  gasp,  a  throb,  a  start  of  pain, 
A  sigli,  and  nothing  more. 

"^  XTX. 

'^  I  woke — Where  was  I  ? — Do  I  see 
A  human  face  look  down  on  me  ? 
And  doth  a  roof  above  me  close  ? 
Do  these  limbs  on  a  couch  repose  ? 
Is  this  a  chamber  where  I  lie  ? 
And  is  it  inortal  yon  bright  eye 
That  watches  me  with  gentle  glance  ? 

I  closed  my  own  again  once  more, 
As  doubtful  that  my  former  trance 

Could  not  as  yet  be  o'er. 
A  slender  girl,  long  hair'd,  and  tall. 
Sate  watching  by  the  cottage  wall; 
The  sparkle  of  her  eye  I  caught, 
Even  with  my  first  return  of  thought; 
For  ever  and  anon  '  she  threw 

A  ]irying,  pitying  glance  on  me 

With  her  black  eyes  so  wild  and  free: 

•  now  and  then. 


MAZEPPA.  48 

I  gazed,  and  gazed,  until  I  kne\r 

Xo  vision  it  could  be, — 
But  that  I  lived  and  was  released 
From  adding  to  the  vulture's  feast: 
And  when  the  Cossack  maid  beheld 
My  heavy  eyes  at  length  unseal'd. 
She  smiled — and  I  essayed  to  speak, 

But  fail'd — and  she  approach'd,  and  made 

With  lip  and  finger  signs  that  said, 
I  must  not  strive  as  vet  to  break 
The  silence,  till  my  strength  should  be 
Enough  to  leave  my  accents  free; 
And  then  her  hand  on  mine  she  laid, 
And  smooth'd  the  pillow  for  my  head. 
And  stole  along  on  tiptoe  tread. 

And  gently  oped  the  door,  and  spake 
In  whispers — ne'er  was  voice  so  sweet  ! 
Even  music  follow'd  her  light  feet; 

But  those  she  call'd  were  not  awake. 
And  she  went  forth  :  but,  ere  she  passed. 
Another  look  on  me  she  cast. 

Another  sign  she  made,  to  say, 
That  I  had  naught  to  fear,  that  all 
Were  near,  at  my  command  or  call. 

And  she  would  not  delay 
Her  due  return  : — while  she  was  gone, 
Methought  I  felt  too  much  alone. 

XX. 

'•'  She  came  with  mother  and  with  sire — 
What  need  of  more  ? — I  will  not  tire 
With  long  recital  of  the  rest. 
Since  I  became  the  Cossack's  guest.  .   • 

They  found  me  senseless  on  the  plain — 
They  bore  me  to  the  nearest  hut — 


44 


MAZEPPA. 

They  brouglit  mv  into  life  again— 
^le — one  day  o'er  their  realm  to  reign  ! 

Thns  the  vain  fool  who  strove  to  glut 
His  rage,  refining  on  my  pain, 

Sent  me  forth  to  the  wilderness, 
Bonnd,  naked,  bleeding,  and  alone, 
To  })ass  tlie  desert  to  a  throne, — 

A\nuit  mortal  his  own  doom  may  guess  ? 

Let  none  despond,  let  none  despair  ! 
To-mon-o\v  the  Borysthenes 
May  see  our  coursers  gaze  at  ease 
Upon  liis  Turkish  bank, — and  never 
Had  I  such  welcome  for  a  river 

As  I  shall  yield  when  safely  there. 
Comrades,  good  night  !  "—The  Hetman  threw 

His  length  beneath  the  oak-tree  shade, 

AVith  leafy  couch  already  made, 
A  bed  nor  comfortless  nor  new 
To  him,  who  took  his  rest  wiiene'er 
The  hour  arrived,  no  matter  where: 

His  eyes  the  hastening  slumbers  steep. 
And  if  ye  marvel  Charles  forgot 
To  thank  his  tale,  lie  wondered  not, — 

The  king  had  been  an  hour  asleep. 


CHILDE^    HAROLD. 

This  poem  describee  scenes  and  events  in  several  parts  of  Europe,  in  which  the  poet 
travelled — Portugal  and  Spain,  (Greece  and  neighboring  lands,  Belgium,  Germany  and  the 
Rhine  country.  Switzerland  and  Italy, 

It  was  thought  by  some  that  Childe  Harold  was  meant  to  represent  the  author  himself. 
This,  however,  Byron  denied.     In  the  preface  to  the  first  and  second  cantos  he  says  :— 

"  A  fictitious  character  is  introduced  for  the  sake  of  giving  some  connection"  to  the 
piece.  It  has  been  suggested  to  me  by  friends,  that  in  this  fictitious  character,  '  Childe 
Harold,'  I  may  incur  the  suspicion  of  having  intended  some  real  personage  ;  this  I  beg 
leave  to  disclaim,  Harold  is  the  child  of  imagination.  In  some  very  trivial  particulars, 
and  those  merely  local,  there  might  be  grounds  for  such  a  notion,  but  in  the  main  points 
none  whatever."' 

But  while  Childe  Harold  is  an  imaginary  character,  the  spirit  and  sentiment  of  the 
poem  are  the  author's.  Its  beautiful  pictures  are  presented  to  us  as  Byron  saw  them.  He 
tells  us  what  he  thought  and  how  he  felt  in  relation  to  all  that  came'  under  his  observa- 
tion, and  he  tells  it  in  a  way  that  all  through  interests  and  delights  the  reader. 

CANTO -^   THE   FIRST. 

I. 

Oh,  thou,  in  Hellas  ^  deemed  of  lieavenly  birth. 
Muse/  formed  or  fabled  at  the  minstrel's  will  ! 
Since  shamed  full  oft  by  later  lyres  on  earth, 
Mine  dares  not  call  thee  from  thy  sacred  hill  :  ^ 
Yet  there  I've  wandered  by  thy  vaunted  rill  ;  ^ 
Yes  I  sighed  o'er  Delphi's  long-deserted  shrine,^ 
Where,  save  that  feeble  fountain,^  all  is  still  ; 
Nor  mote®  my  shelP  awake  the  weary  Xine* 
To  grace  so  plain  a  tale — this  lowly  lay  '"  of  mine. 

*  In  former  times  this  word  was  used  as  a  prefix  to  the  name  of  tlie  eldest  son  until  he 
encceeded  to  the  title  of  the  family, 

2  part  or  division  of  a  long  poem.  3  ancient  name  of  Greece. 

*  In  the  ancient  Greek  mythology  there  were  nine  goddesses,  who  presided  over  poetry, 
music,  and  the  sciences.  They  were  called  the  Nine  Muses.  The  muse  here  referred  to 
is  the  goddess  of  poetry. 

6  the  hill  or  mount  of  Parnassus  in  Greece,  on  the  top  of  which  the  Pluses  were  supposed 
to  hold  their  meetings. 

6  the  rill  or  fountain  of  Castalia,  on  the  slope  of  Mount  Parnassus.  It  was  thought  that 
tliose  who  drank  of  its  waters  received  the  gift  of  poetry. 

'  an  altar  or  sacred  place.  Delphi  (now  Castri)  was  a  town  at  the  foot  of  Parnassus, 
where  there  was  a  temple  of  Apollo,  the  god  of  music,  poetry,  and  the  fine  arts. 

*  might. 

^  musical  lnstrun>ent  or  lyre,  the  first,  it  is  said,  being  made  by  strings  drawn  over  a 
tortoise-shell.  i"  soug. 


46  CHILDE   HAROLD. 

n. 
AVlnloin  '  ill  Albion's'  isle  there  dwelt  a  youth, 
AVho  ne'  in  virtue's  ways  did  take  deliglit  ; 
But  spent  his  days  in  riot  most  uncouth, 
And  vexed  witli  mirth  the  drowsy  ear  of  Night. 

III. 
Childe  Harold  was  he  hight  ;'  but  whence  his  name 
And  lineage  long,  it  suits  me  not  to  say  ; 
Suffice  it,  that  perchance  they  were  of  fame. 
And  had  been  glorious  in  another  day  : 
But  one  sad  losel '  soils  a  name  for  aye," 
However  mis^htv  in  the  olden  time  ; 
Xor  all  that  heralds  '  rake  from  coffined  clay, 
Nor  florid  prose,  nor  honeyed  lines  of  rhyme. 
Can  blazon  evil  deeds,  or  consecrate  a  crime. 

IV. 
Childe  Harold  basked  him  in  the  noontide  snn. 
Disporting  there  like  any  other  fly, 
Nor  deemed  before  his  little  day  was  done 
One  blast  might  chill  him  into  misery. 
But  long  ere  scarce  a  third  of  his  passed  by. 
Worse  than  adversity  the  Childe  befell  ; 
He  felt  the  fullness  of  satiety  : 
Then  loathed  he  in  his  native  land  to  dwell. 
Which  seemed  to  him  more  lone  than  eremite's^  sad  cell. 

VII. 

The  Childe  departed  from  his  father's  hall ; 
It  was  a  vast  and  venerable  pile  ; 

>  formerly.  ^  Albion,  ancient  name  of  Great  Britain.  ^  jiot 

4  called.  6  worthless  person.  *  {pron.  fl)  ever. 

^  herald,  an  official  who  traces  and  draws  up  records  of  the  founders  or  ancestors  of 
families.                                                               "  hermit's. 


CHILDE   HAROLD.  47 

So  old,  it  seemed  only  not  to  fall, 

Yet  strength  was  pillared  in  each  massy  aisle. 

X. 

Childe  Harold  had  a  mother — not  forgot, 
Thongh  parting  from  that  mother  he  did  shun  ; 
A  sister  whom  he  loved,  but  saw  her  not 
Before  his  weary  pilgrimage  begun  : 
If  friends  he  had,  he  bade  adieu  to  none. 
Yet  deem  not  thence  his  breast  a  breast  of  steel ; 
Ye,  who  have  known  what  'tis  to  dote  upon 
A  few  dear  objects,  will  in  sadness  feel 
Such  partings  break  the  heart  they  fondly  hope  to  heal. 
•  ••••• 

XII. 

The  sails  were  filled,  and  the  fair  light  winds  blew 
As  glad  to  waft  him  from  his  native  home  ; 
And  fast  the  white  rocks  faded  from  his  view. 
And  soon  were  lost  in  circumambient '  foam  ; 
And  then,  it  may  be,  of  his  wish  to  roam 
Kepented  he,  but  in  his  bosom  slept 
The  silent  thought,  nor  from  his  lips  did  come 
One  word  of  wail,  whilst  others  sate  and  wept. 
And  to  the  reckless  gales  unmanly  moaning  kept. 

XIII. 

But  when  the  sun  was  sinking  in  the  sea. 

He  seized  his  harp,  which  he  at  times  could  string, 

And  strike,  albeit  with  untaught  melody. 

When  deemed  he  no  strange  ear  was  listening  : 

And  now  his  fingers  o'er  it  he  did  fling, 

x\nd  tuned  his  farewell  in  the  dim  twilight, 

While  flew  the  vessel  on  her  snowy  wing, 

*  surroundinj'. 


48  childf:  harold. 

And  Hooting  sliores  receded  from  his  siglit, 
Thus  to  the  elements  '  he  poured  his  hist  "  CJood  Night/' 

Adieu,  adieu  I  my  native  shore 

Fades  o'er  the  waters  blue  ; 
The  night-winds  sigh,  the  brealcers  roar. 

And  shrielvs  the  wiki  sea-mew. 
Yon  sun  tliat  sets  upon  the  sea 

We  follow  in  his  flight ; 
Farewell  awhile  to  him  and  thee, 

My  Native  Land — Good  Night  ! 

A  few  short  hours,  and  he  will  rise 

To  give  the  morrow  birth  ; 
And  I  shall  hail  the  main  and  skies. 

But  not  my  mother  earth. 
Deserted  is  my  own  good  hall. 

Its  hearth  is  desolate  ; 
Wild  weeds  are  gathering  on  the  wall^ 

My  dog  howls  at  the  gate. 

"  Come  hither,  hither,  my  little  page  ; 

Why  dost  thon  weap  and  wail  ? 
Or  dost  thou  dread  the  billow's  rage. 

Or  tremble  at  the  gale  ? 
But  dash  the  tear-droji  from  thine  eye. 

Our  ship  is  swift  and  strong; 
Our  fleetest  falcon  scarce  can  fly 

More  merrily  along.*' 

"  Let  winds  be  shrill,  let  waves  roll  high, 
I  fear  not  wave  nor  wind  ; 
Yet  marvel  not,  Sir  Childe,  that  I 
Am  sorrowful  in  mind. 

1  here  meaninjr  the  air  and  ocean. 


CB<ILDE    HAROLD.  49 

For  1  have  from  my  father  gone, 

A  mother  whom  I  love, 
And  have  no  friend,  save  thee  alone. 

But  thee — and  One  above. 

"  M}^  father  blessed  me  fervently. 
Yet  did  not  much  complain ; 
But  sorely  will  my  mother  sigh 
Till  I  come  back  again/'' — 
"  Enough,  enough,  my  little  lad  ! 
Such  tears  become  thine  eye  ; 
If  I  thy  guileless  bosom  had. 
Mine  own  would  not  be  drv/' 


With  thee,  my  bark,  I'll  swiftly  go 

Athwart  the  foaming  brine  ; 
Nor  care  what  land  thou  bear'st  me  to. 

So  not  again  to  mine. 
Welcome,  welcome,  ye  dark  blue  waves  ! 

And  when  you  fail  my  sight. 
Welcome,  ye  deserts,  and  ye  caves  ! 

My  Native  Land — Good  Night  ! 

XIV. 

On,  on  the  vessel  flies,  the  land  is  gone. 
And  winds  are  rude  in  Biscay's  sleepless  bay. 
Four  days  are  sped,  but  with  the  fifth,  anon. 
New  shores  descried  make  every  bosom  gay  ; 
And  Ointra's '  mountain  greets  them  on  their  way. 
And  Tagiis""  dashing  onward  to  the  deep. 
His  fabled  golden  tribute  '''bent  to  pay ; 

»  Cintra,  a  town  on  the  side  of  a  mountain  near  Lisbon  in  Portugal. 

2  a  river  that  flows  through  Spain  and  Portugal  into  the  Atlantic  at  Lisbon. 

3  it  w.as  s:iid  in  ancient  times  that  the  sands  of  the  Tagus  produced  gold  and  precious 
Dtoues. 

4 


50  CHILDE    HAROLD. 

And  soon  on  board  tlie  Lnsian  '  pilots  leap. 
And  steer  ^twixt  fertile  shores  where  yet  few  rustics  roa}>. 

x\i. 

What  beauties  doth  Lisboa^  first  unfold  ! 
Her  image  floating  on  that  noble  tide, 
AVhicli  poets  vainly  pave  with  sands  of  gold. 
But  now  whereon  a  thousand  keels  did  ride 
Of  mighty  strength,  since  Albion  Avas  allied. 
And  to  the  Lusians  did  her  aid  afford  :  ^ 
A  nation  swoll'n  with  ignorance  and  pride," 
Who  lick,  yet  loathe,  the  hand  that  waves  the  sword. 
To  save  them  from  the  wrath  of  GauFs  unsparing  lord. 

XVII.  ' 

But  whoso  entereth  within  this  town. 
That,  sheening  ^  far,  celestial  seems  to  be. 
Disconsolate  will  wander  up  and  down. 
Mid  many  things  unsightly  to  strange  e'e  ;* 
For  hut  and  palace  show  like  filthily  ; 
The  dingy  denizens  ^  are  reared  in  dirt ; 
Ne  personage  of  high  or  mean  degree 
Doth  care  for  cleanness  of  surtout  or  shirt, 
Though   shent  ®   with    Egypt's    plague,    unkempt,    un- 
washed, unhurt. 

XVIII. 

Poor,  paltry  slaves  !  yet  born  midst  noblest  scenes — 
Why,  Nature,  waste  thy  wonders  on  such  men  ? 

1  Liinitaiiiji  was  the  ancient  name  of  Portiii^al. 

"  Portugnese  name  of  Lis^bon. 

^in  1807  Napoleon  Bonaparte  seized  Portugal.  Thitfi  caused  the  Peninsular  War,  in 
which  the  English,  Portuguese,  and  Spaniards  fought  against  the  French. 

^  the  Lusians  arc  represented  as  ignorant  and  proud,  fawning  u]ion,  while  they  loathe, 
the  hand  of  England,  whose  aid  they  receive  to  save  them  from  the  wrath  of  Napoleon, 
the  lord  of  France  (Gaul). 

s  shining.  *  eye.  ^inhabitants.  *  degraded. 


CHILDE    HAROLD.  51 

Lo  !  Ciutra's  glorious  Eden  '  intervenes 
In  variegated  maze  of  mount  and  glen. 
Ah  me  I  what  hand  can  pencil  guide,  or  pen. 
To  follow  half  on  which  the  eye  dilates 
Through  views  more  dazzling  unto  mortal  ken' 
Than  those  whereof  such  things  the  bard  relates. 
Who  to  the  awe-struck  world  unlocked  Elysium's  '  gates? 

XIX. 

The  horrid  crags,  b}^  toppling  *  convent  crowned, 
The  cork-trees  hoar  that  clothe  the  shaggy  steep. 
The  mountain  moss  by  scorching  skies  imbrowned. 
The  sunken  glen,  whose  sunless  shrubs  must  weep. 
The  tender  azure  of  the  unruffled  deep. 
The  orange  tints  that  gild  the  greenest  bough. 
The  torrents  that  from  cliif  to  valley  leap. 
The  vine  on  high,  the  willow  branch  below. 
Mixed  in  one  mighty  scene,  with  varied  beauty  glow. 


XXI. 

And  here  and  there,  as  up  the  crags  you  spring, 
Mark  many  rude-carved  crosses  near  the  path  ; 
Yet  deem  not  these  devotion's  offerino- — 
These  are  memorials  frail  of  murderous  wrath  ; 
For  wheresoever  the  shriekins^  victim  hath 
Poured  forth  his  blood  beneath  the  assassin's  knife. 
Some  hand  erects  a  cross  of  moldering  lath  ; 
And  grove  and  glen  with  thousand  such  are  rife 
Throughout  this  purple  land,  where  law  secures  not  life. 


'  beautiful  gardens  around  Cintra.  2  view. 

3  Elysium  was  the  Greelj  paradise,  or  abode  of  the  blessed  dead. 
*  on  the  top  of  high  rocks,  as  if  in  danger  of  falling  over. 

"  in  1809,  about  the  time  at  which  the  poet  wrote,  murders  were  very  frequent  in  the 
streets  of  Lisbon  and  its  vicinity. 


52  CHTLDE   HAHOLD. 

XXX. 

O'er  vales  tluit  teem  with  fruits,  romantic  hills, 
(Oh  that  such  hills  upheld  a  free-born  race  !) 
AVhereon  to  ^aze  the  eye  with  joyaiice  fills, 
Childe  Harold  wends  through  many  a  pleasant  place, 
Though  sluggards  deem  it  but  a  foolish  chase, 
And  marvel  men  should  quit  their  easy  chair, 
'i'he  toilsome  way,  and  long,  long  league  to  trace. 
Oh,  there  is  sweetness  in  the  mountain  air 
And  life,  that  bloated  Ease  '  can  never  hope  to  share. 

xxxr. 

More  bleak  to  view  the  hills  at  length  recede. 
And  less  luxuriant,  smoother  vales  extend  : 
Immense  horizon-bounded  plains  succeed  ! 
Far  as  the  eye  discerns,  withouten'^  end, 
Spain's  realms  appear,  whereon  her  shepherds  tend 
Flocks,  whose  rich  fleece  right  well  the  trader  knows — 
Now  must  the  pastor's  arms  his  lambs  defend  : 
For  Spain  is  compassed  by  unyielding  foes,^ 
And  all  must  shield  their  all,  or  share  Subjection's  Avoes. 


xxxvii. 

Awake,  ye  sons  of  Spain  I  awake  !  advance. 
Lo  I  Chivalry,"  your  ancient  goddess,  cries, 
But  wields  not,  as  of  old,  her  tliirsty  lance, 
Xor  shakes  her  crimson  plumage  in  the  skies  : 
Kow  on  the  smoke  of  blazing  bolts  ^  she  flies, 
And  speaks  in  thunder  through  yon  engine's  r(5ar  ! 
In  every  peal  she  calls — ''  Awake  !  arise  ! '' 

'  ease  is  bore  personified,  or  ima[,nncd  as  being  a  living  person  ;  benco  tbe  capital  letter. 
Such  figurative  use  of  words  is  frequent  tbrougbout  the  poem. 
2  old  form  of  without.  3  the  French. 

4  knighthood  ;  the  gallantry  and  cnnrtosy  of  the  knight-^  of  thi-  middle  ages. 
^  artillerv  ;  cannon  shots. 


CHILDE   HAKOLD.  53 

Say,  is  her  voice  more  feeble  than  of  yore, 
When  her  war-song  was  heard  on  Andalusia's  ^  shore  ? 

•  ••••• 

XLIII. 

0  Albnera,'  glorious  field  of  grief  ! 
As  o'er  thy  plain  the  Pilgrim  pricked  his  steed, 
Who  could  foresee  thee,  in  a  space  so  brief, 
A  scene  where  mingling  foes  should  boast  and  bleed. 
Peace  to  the  perished  !  may  the  warriors  meed 
And  tears  of  triumph  their  reward  prolong  ! 
Till  others  fall  where  other  chieftains  lead. 
Thy  name  shall  circle  round  the  gaping  throng. 
And  shine  in  worthless  lays,  the  theme  of  transient  song. 

•  ••••• 

XLY. 

Full  swiftly  Harold  wends  his  lonely  way 
Where  proud  Sevilla^  triumphs  unsubdued  : 
Yet  is  she  free — the  spoiler's  wished-for  prey  ! 
Soon,  soon  shall  Conquest's  fiery  foot  intrude. 
Blackening  her  lovely  domes  with  traces  rude. 
Inevitable  hour  !     'Gainst  fate  to  strive 
Where  Desolation  plants  her  famished  brood 
Is  vain,  or  Ilion,'  Tyre,'  might  yet  survive, 
And  Virtue  vanquish  all,  and  Murder  ^  cease  to  thrive. 

XL  VI. 

But  all  unconscious  of  the  coming  doom,'' 
The  feast,  the  song,  the  revel  here  abounds  ; 

1  a  province  in  the  south  of  Spain. 

2  a  village  of  Spain,  where  in  1811  a  great  battle  was  fought  between  the  English,  Span- 
ish, and  Portuguese  forces  and  the  French,  in  which  the  latter  were  defeated. 

3  Seville,  a  famous  and  beautiful  city  of  Spain. 

4  another  name  of  the  ancient  city  of  Troy,  which  was  destroyed  by  the  Greeks  in  the 
famous  Trojan  war.  ^  an  ancient  city  of  Phcenicia  in  Asia  ]Minor. 

«  Murder,  Virtue,  Desolation,  as  well  as  War  and  Love  in  the  following  stanza,  are  all 
personifications. 

'  the  taking  and  ravaging  of  Seville  in  ISIO  by  the  French  General  Soult. 


54  CHILD!-:    IIAK'JI.I). 

Strange  modes  of  merriment  the  liours  consume, 
Xor  bleed  tliese  patriots  with  their  country's  wounds  ; 
Xor  liere  AVar's  clarion,  but  Love's  rebeck  '  sounds ; 


XLIX. 

On  yon  long  level  plain,  at  distance  crowned 
AVith  crags,  whereon  those  Moorish  '  turrets  rest. 
Wide  scattered  hoof-marks  dint  the  wounded  ground  ; 
And,  scathed  by  fire,  the  greensward's  darkened  vest 
Tells  that  the  foe  was  Andalusia's  guest : ' 
Here  was  the  camp,  the  watch-flame,  and  the  host, 
Here  the  brave  peasant  stormed  the  dragon's  nest ;  * 
Still  does  he  mark  it  Avith  triumphant  boast. 
And  points  to  yonder  cliffs,  which  oft  were  won  and  lost. 

L. 

And  whomsoc'er  along  the  path  you  meet 
Bears  in  his  cap  the  badge  of  crimson  hne,^ 
Which  tells  you  whom  to  shun  and  whom  to  greet. 
Woe  to  the  man  that  walks  in  public  view 
Without  of  loyalty  this  token  true  : 
Sharp  is  the  knife,  and  sudden  is  the  stroke  ; 
And  sorely  would  the  Gallic^  foeman  rue, 
If  subtle  poniards,  Avrapt  beneath  the  cloak. 
Could  blunt  the  saber's  edge,  or  clear  the  cannon's  smoke. 

LI. 

At  every  turn  Morena's  "  dusky  height 
Sustains  aloft  the  battery's  iron  load  ; 

1  a  kind  of  fiddle  with  two  strings. 

2  Sixain  was  invaded  and  coiuiuercd  in  the  ei<^hth  century  by  the  Arabs,  and  hiter  by 
tlif  Moors,  who  hins^  remained  masters  of  the  country. 

3  in  ISIO  Andahisia  (province  of  Spain)  was  seized  and  occupied  by  the  French. 
*  tlie  Spanish  peasants  fou-^dit  bravely  to  drive  out  the  French  invaders. 

•'■  the  red  cockade,  bearing  in  its  centre  a  likeness  of  the  Spanish  King  Ferdinand  VII. 
e  French.  ''  Morena,  a  mountain  in  the  soiith  of  Spain. 


CHILDE    HAROLD.  00 

And,  far  as  mortal  eye  can  compass  sight, 
The  mountain  howitzer/  the  broken  road, 
The  bristling  palisade,  tlie  fosse  o'erflowed, 
TMie  stationed  bands,  the  never- vacant  watch. 
The  magazine  in  rocky  durance  stowed. 
The  bolstered  steed  beneath  the  shed  of  thatch. 
The  ball-piled  pyramid,"  the  ever-blazing  match, 

LTI. 

Portend  the  deeds  to  come  :  but  he  ^  whose  nod 

Has  tumbled  feebler  despots  from  their  sway, 

A  moment  pauseth  ere  he  lifts  the  rod ; 

A  little  moment  deigneth  to  delay  : 

Soon  will  his  legions  sweep  tlirough  these  their  way  ; 

The  West  must  own  the  Scourger'  of  the  world. 

Ah,  Spain  I  how  sad  will  be  thy  reckoning  day, 

AVhen  soars  GauFs  Vulture/  witli  his  wings  unfurled. 
And  thou  shaltview  thy  sons  in  crowds  to  Hades*  hurled, 

Liir. 

And  must  they  fall — the  young,  the  proud,  the  brave — 

To  swell  one  bloated  chief's^  unwholesome  reign  ? 

Xo  step  between  submission  and  a  grave  ? 

The  rise  of  rapine  and  the  fall  of  Spain  ? 

And  doth  the  Power  that  man  adores  ordain 

Their  doom,  nor  heed  the  suppliant's  appeal  ? 

Is  all  that  desperate  Valor  acts  in  vain  ? 

And  Counsel  sage,  and  patriotic  Zeal. 
The  veteran's  skill,  youth's  fire,  and  manhood's  heart  of  steel  ? 

LIV. 

Is  it  for  this  the  Spanish  maid.'  aroused. 
Hangs  on  the  willow  her  unstrung  guitar, 

1  a  short  cannon. 

2  shot  and  shells  in  military  forts  are  piled  in  heaps  shaped  like  a  pyramid. 

3  Napoleon. 

*  the  invisible  abode  of  the  souls  of  the  dead;  so  called  by  the  ancient  Greeks. 

^  Augustina— knowTi  as  the  Maid  of  Saragoza— a  heroic  young  Spanish  woman,  who,  at 
the  siege  of  Saragoza  (North  Spain)  in  1809,  worked  with  her  countrymen  on  the  bat- 
teries, in  defending  the  town  against  the  French. 


56  CIIILDE    HAROLD. 

And.  ;ill  iiiisoxcd,  llio  a'lihico  '  liiith  espoused. 
Sung  the  lond  song,  and  dared  tlic  deed  of  war  ? 
And  she,  whom  once  tlie  semblance  of  a  scar 
Appalled,  an  owlet's  lariim'^  chilled  Avith  dread, 
Now  views  the  column-scattering  bayonet  jar. 
The  falchion  flash,  and  o'er  the  yet  warm  dead 
Stalks  with  Minerva's  ^  step  where  Mars  *  might  quake  to  tread. 

LV. 

Ye  who  shall  marvel  when  you  hear  her  tale. 
Oh  !  had  you  known  her  in  her  softer  hour. 
Marked  her  black  eye  that  mocks  her  coal-black  veil. 
Heard  her  light,  lively  tones  in  Lady's  bower. 
Seen  her  long  locks  that  foil  the  painter's  power. 
Tier  fairy  form,  with  more  than  female  grace. 
Scarce  would  you  deem  that  Saragoza's  tower 
Beheld  her  smile  in  Danger's  Gorgon  ^  face. 

Thin  the  closed  ranks,  and  lead  in  Glory's  fearful  chase. 

Lvr. 
Her  lover  sinks — she  sheds  no  ill-timed  tear; 
Her  chief  is  slain — she  fills  his  fatal  post ; 
Her  fellows  flee — she  checks  their  base  career  ; 
The  foe  retires — she  heads  the  sallying  host  : 
Who  can  appease  like  her  a  lover's  ghost  ? 
AVho  can  avenge  so  well  a  leader's  fall  ? 
What  maid  retrieve  when  man's  flushed  hope  is  lost  ? 
Who  hang  so  fiercely  on  the  flying  Gaul, 

Foiled  by  a  woman's  hand,  before  a  battered  wall  ? 

LVII. 

Yet  are  Spain's  maids  no  race  of  Amazons," 
But  formed  for  all  the  witching  arts  of  love  : 

1  a  short  dagger.  2  alarm;  a  noise  giving  notice  of  danger. 

3  Minerva,  worshipped  by  the  ancients  as  the  goddess  of  wisdom  and  war. 

■*  the  god  of  war. 

6  of  frightful  appearance;  like  the  Gorgons,  fal)led  monsters  so  terrible  to  behold  that 
anyone  who  looked  upon  their  faces  was  immediately  turned  into  stone. 

«  a  nation  of  female  warriors,  supposed,  in  ancient  times,  to  have  dwelt  on  the  shores  of 
the  Black  Sea. 


CHILDE    HAROLD.  5/ 

Thougli  tliu;?  in  arms  they  emulate  her  sons. 
And  in  the  horrid  phalanx  dare  to  move, 
'Tis  but  the  tender  fierceness  of  the  dove, 
Pecking  the  hand  that  hovers  o'er  her  mate  : 
In  softness  as  in  firmness  far  above 
Remoter  females,'  famed  for  sickening  prate  ; 
Her  mind  is  nobler  sure,  her  charms  perchance  as  great. 

LX. 

0  thoii,  Parnassus  !  whom  I  now  survey,' 
Xot  in  tlie  phrenzy  of  a  dreamer's  eye, 
Not  in  the  fabled  landscape  of  a  lay. 

But  soaring  snow-clad  through  thy  native  sky. 
In  the  wild  pomp  of  mountain  majesty  ! 
AVhat  marvel  if  I  thus  essay  to  sing  ? 
The  humblest  of  thy  pilgrims  passing  by 
Would  gladly  woo  thine  echoes  with  his  string,^ 
Though  from  thy  heights  no  more  one   Muse  will  wave 
her  wing. 

LXI. 

Oft  have  I  dreamed  of  Thee!  whose  glorious  name 
Wlio  knows  not,  knows  not  man's  divinest  lore  :  * 
And  now  I  view  thee,  'tis,  alas,  with  shame 
That  I  in  feeblest  accents  must  adore. 
AVhen  I  recount  thy  worshipers  of  yore  ^ 

1  tremble,  and  can  only  bend  the  knee  ; 
Nor  raise  my  voice,  nor  vainly  dare  to  soar. 
But  gaze  beneath  thy  cloudy  canopy 

In  silent  joy  to  think  at  last  I  look  on  thee  ! 

LXII. 

Happier  in  this  than  mightiest  bards  have  been, 
Whose  fate  to  distant  homes  confined  their  lot, 

1  referrinsr  to  the  ladies  of  England. 

2  This  part  of  the  poem  was  written  in  Greece  (see  note  5,  page  45). 

3  his  Ivre.  *  knowledge.  ^  ancient  times. 


58  CHILDE   HAROLD. 

Slijill  I  iininoved  beliold  the  hallowed  scene, 
Wliicli  others  rave  of,  though  they  know  it  not  ? 
Tliongh  here  no  more  Apollo  haunts  his  grot/ 
And  tliou,  the  Muses^  seat,  art  now  their  grave, 
Some  gentle  spirit  still  pervades  the  spot, 
Sighs  in  the  gale,  keeps  silence  in  the  cave. 
And  glides  with  glassy  foot  o'er  yon  melodious  wave. 

LXIII. 

Of  thee  hereafter. — Even  amidst  my  strain^ 
I  turned  aside  to  pay  my  homage  here  ; 
Forgot  the  land,  the  sons,  the  maids  of  Spain  ; 
Her  fate,  to  every  freeborn  bosom  dear ; 
And  hailed  thee,  not  perchance  without  a  tear. 
Now  to  my  theme — but  from  thy  holy  haunt 
Let  me  some  remnant,  some  memorial  beai-  ; 
Yield  me  one  leaf  of  Daphne's  deathless  plant/ 
Nor  let  thy  votary's  hope  be  deemed  an  idle  vaunt. 

LXIV. 

But  ne'er  didst  thou,   fair  Mount,   when    Greece  was 

young, 
See  round  thy  giant  base  a  brighter  choir  ; 
Nor  e'er  did  Delphi,  when  her  priestess  sung 
The  Pythian  *  hymn  with  more  than  mortal  fire. 
Behold  a  train  more  fitting  to  inspire 
The  song  of  love  than  Andalusia's  maids, 
Nurst  in  the  glowing  lap  of  soft  desire  : 
Ah!  that  to  these  were  given  such  peaceful  shades 
As  Greece  can  still  bestow,  though  Glory  fly  her  glades. 

LXV. 

Fair  is  proud  Seville  ;  let  her  country  boast 

Her  strength,  her  wealth,  her  site  of  ancient  days, 

'  see  note  6,  pai^e  45.  2  poem;  sonc;. 

3  the  laurel;  Daphne,  a  beautiful  nymph  loved  by  Apollo,  and  changed  into  a  laure!  tree. 

■»  Pythia,  name  given  to  the  priestess  who  served  in  the  temple  of  Apollo  at  Delphi. 


CHILDE    HAROLD.  59 

But  Cadiz,'  rising  on  the  distant  coast, 
Calls  forth  a  sweeter,  though  ignoble  praise. 

LXVIII. 

The  Sabbath  comes,,  a  day  of  blessed  rest ; 
AVhat  hallows  it  upon  this  Christian  shore  ? 
Lo  I  it  is  sacred  to  a  solemn  feast  : 
Hark  I  heard  you  not  the  forest  monarch's '  roar  ? 
Crashing  the  lance,  he  snuffs  the  spouting  gore 
Of  man  and  steed,  overthrown  beneath  his  horn  ; 
The  thronged  arena  shakes  with  shouts  for  more  ; 
Yells  the  mad  crowd  o'er  entrails  freshly  torn. 
Nor  shrinks  the  female  eye,  nor  e'en  affects  to  mourn. 

LXIX. 

The  seventh  day  this  :  the  jubilee  of  man. 
London  I  right  well  thou  know'st  the  day  of  prayer  : 
Then  thy  spruce  citizen,  washed  artisan, 
And  smug  apprentice  gulp  their  weekly  air  : 

To  Hampstead,  Brentford,  Harrow,'  make  repair  : 

LXX. 

Some  o'er  thy  Thamis '  row  the  ribboned  fair, 
Others  along  the  safer  turnpike  fly. 
Some  Eichmond  Hill '  ascend,  some  scud  to  Ware,' 
And  many  to  the  steep  of  Highgate '  hie. 

LXXI. 

All  have  their  fooleries  ;  not  alike  are  thine, 
Fair  Cadiz,  rising  o'er  the  dark-blue  sea  ! 

1  town  on  the  southwestern  coast  of  Spain. 

2  fore«t  monarch,  the  bull.    The  poet  goes  on  to  describe  a  Spanish  bull-fight. 

3  towns  near  London,  England.  *  the  river  Thames,  which  flows  through  London. 
6  new  London.  ®  a  suburb  of  London. 


<)()  CIIILDE   HAROLD. 

Soon  as  tlie  mtitin  '  bi'll  prochiiiiK'tli  nine, 
Tliy  saint  adorers  count  tlic  rosary  :' 

llion  to  the  crowded  circus  forth  they  fare  : 
Young,  old,  liigh,  low,  at  once  the  same  diversion  sliare. 

Lxxir. 
The  lists  are  oped,  the  spacious  area  cleared, 
Thousands  on  thousands  piled  are  seated  round  ; 
Long  ere  the  first  loud  trumpet's  note  is  heard, 
Ne  vacant  space  for  lated  wight '  is  found  : 

LXXIII. 

Hushed  is  the  din  of  tongues — on  gallant  steeds. 
With   milk-white    crest,  gold    spur,   and   light-poised 

lance, 
Eour  cavaliers  prepare  for  venturous  deeds. 
And  lowly  bending  to  the  lists  advance  ; 
Rich  are  their  scarfs,  their  chargers  featly*  prance  : 
If  in  the  dangerous  game  they  shine  to-day, 
Tlie  crowd's  loud  shout,  and  ladies'  lovely  glance. 
Best  prize  of  better  acts,  they  bear  away. 
And  all  that  kings  or  chiefs  e'er  gain  their  toils  repay. 

LXXIV. 

In  costly  sheen  "  and  gaudy  cloak  arrayed. 

But  all  afoot,  the  light-limbed  Matadore ' 

Stands  in  the  center,  eager  to  invade 

The  lord  of  lowing  herds  ;  but  not  before 

The  irround,  with  cautious  tread,  is  traversed  o'er, 

Lest  aught  unseen  should  lurk  to  thwart  his  speed  : 

Ilis  arms  a  dart,  he  fights  aloof,  nor  more 

1  luoniiiif,'.  -  ii  atvhvj;  of  beads  for  counting  prayers. 

3  a  bilaUul  person  can  find  no  scat.     *  neatly;  dexterously. 

i  tplcauur.  *^  tl'<^  "litii  api)oinlea  to  kill  the  bull  iu  a  bull-light. 


CHILDE    HAROLD.  61 

Can  man  achieve  witlioiit  the  friendly  steed — 
Alas  I  too  oft  condemned  for  him  to  bear  and  bleed. 

LXXV. 

Thrice  sounds  the  clarion  ;  lo  !  the  signal  falls. 
The  den  expands,  and  Expectation  mute 
Gapes  round  the  silent  circle's  peopled  walls. 
Bounds  with  one  lashing  spring  the  mighty  brute. 
And  wildly  staring,  spurns,  with  sounding  foot. 
The  sand,  nor  blindly  rushes  on  his  foe  : 
Here,  there,  he  points  his  threatening  front,  to  suit 
His  first  attack,  wide  waving  to  and  fro 
His  angry  tail ;  red  rolls  his  eye's  dilated  glow. 

LXXYI. 

Sudden  he  stops  ;  his  eye  is  fixed  :  away, 
Away,  thou  heedless  boy  !  prepare  the  spear ; 
Now  is  thy  time  to  perish,  or  display 
The  skill  that  yet  may  check  his  mad  career. 
With  well-timed  croupe  ^  the  nimble  coursers  veer ; 
On  foams  the  bull,  but  not  unscathed  he  goes  ; 
Streams  from  his  flank  the  crimson  torrent  clear 
He  flies,  he  wheels,  distracted  with  his  throes  : 
Dart  follows  dart ;  lance,  lance  ;  loud  bellowings  speak 
his  woes. 

LXXVII. 

Again  he  comes  ;  nor  dart  nor  lance  avail, 
Nor  the  wild  plunging  of  the  tortured  horse  ; 
Though  man  and  man's  avenging  arms  assail. 
Vain  are  his  weapons,  vainer  is  his  force. 
One  gallant  steed  is  stretched  a  mangled  corse  ; 
Another,  hideous  sight  I  unseamed  appears, 
His  gory  chest  unveils  life's  panting  source  ; 
Though  death-struck,  still  his  feeble  frame  he  rears  ; 
Staggering,  but  stemruino-  all.  his  lord  unharmed  he  bears. 

'  leap. 


62  CITILDE    HAROT.D. 

LXXVIII. 

Foiled,  bleeding,  breatliless,  furious  to  the  last. 
Full  in  the  center  stands  the  bull  at  bay, 
^Mid  wounds,  and  clinging  darts,  and  lances  brast/ 
And  foes  disabled  in  the  brutal  fra}^  : 
And  now  the  Matadores  around  him  play, 
Shake  the  red  cloak,  and  poise  the  ready  brand  : 
Once  more  through  all  he  bursts  his  thundering  way — 
Yain  rage  !  the  mantle  quits  the  conynge^  hand. 
Wraps  his  fierce  eye — 'tis  past — he  sinks  upon  the  sand. 

LXXIX. 

Where  his  vast  neck  just  mingles  with  the  spine. 
Sheathed  in  his  form  the  deadly  weapon  lies. 
He  stops — he  starts — disdaining  to  decline. 
Slowly  he  falls  amidst  triumphant  cries. 
Without  a  groan,  without  a  struggle  dies. 
The  decorated  car  appears — on  high 
The  corse  is  piled — sweet  sight  for  vulgar  eyes ; 
Four  steeds  that  spurn  the  rein,  as  swift  as  shy, 
Hurl  the  dark  bull  along,  scarce  seen  in  dashing  by. 

LXXX. 

Such  the  ungentle  sport  that  oft  invites 
The  Spanish  maid,  and  cheers  the  Spanish  swain  : 
Nurtured  in  blood  betimes,  his  heart  delights 
In  vengeance,  gloating  on  another's  pain. 
What  private  feuds  the  troubled  village  stain 
Though  now  one  phalanxed  host  should  meet  the  foe/ 
Enough,  alas,  in  humble  homes  remain. 
To  meditate  'gainst  friends  the  secret  blow. 
For  some  slight  cause   of   wrath,    Avhence   life's    warm 
stream  must  flow. 

•buret;  brokeu.  2  tumiin}^.  »  the  French. 


CHILDE    HAROLD.  63 

LXXXV. 

Adieu,  fair  Cadiz  I  yea,  a  long  adieu  ! 
Who  may  forget  how  well  thy  walls  have  stood  ? 
AVhen  all  were  changing,  thou  alone  wert  true. 
First  to  be  free,  and  last  to  be  subdued. 
And  if  amidst  a  scene,  a  shock  so  rude, 
Some  native  blood  was  seen  thy  streets  to  dye, 
A  traitor '  only  fell  beneath  the  feud : 
Here  all  were  noble,  save  nobility  ;'' 
None  hugged  a  conqueror's  chain  save  fallen  Chivalry  ! 

LXXXVI. 

Such  be  the  sons  of  Spain,  and  strange  her  fate  ! 
Thev  fight  for  freedom,  who  were  never  free  ; 
A  kingless '  people  for  a  nerveless  state. 
Her  vassals  combat  when  their  chieftains  flee. 
True  to  the  veriest  slaves  of  Treachery  ; 
Fond  of  a  land  which  gave  them  naught  but  life. 
Pride  points  the  path  that  leads  to  Liberty  ; 
Back  to  the  struggle,  baffled  in  the  strife, 
AVar,  war  is  still  the  cry,  ••  War  even  to  the  knife  !'"' 

LXXXVII. 

Ye,  who  would  more  of  Spain  and  Spaniards  know. 
C4o,  read  whatever  is  writ  of  bloodiest  strife  : 
Whatever  keen  Vengeance  urged  on  foreign  foe 
Can  act,  is  acting  there  against  man's  life  : 
From  flashing  scimitar  to  secret  knife, 
War  moldeth  there  each  weapon  to  his  need — 
So  may  he  guard  the  sister  and  the  wife. 
So  may  he  make  each  curst  oppressor  bleed. 
So  may  such  foes  deserve  the  most  remorseless  deed  I 

«  Solano,  Governor  of  Cadiz,  who  was  secretly  in  sympathy  with  the  French,  and  was 
killed  as  a  traitor  by  the  people  of  the  town  in  1809. 

2  some  of  the  Spanish  nobility  were  in  sympathy  with  the  French. 

3  the  King  of  Spain,  Charles  IV.,  was  compelled  by  Napoleon  to  resign  the  crown. 

*  the  answer  of  the  Spanish  General  Palafos.  to  the  French  when  they  asked  him  to 
surrender  Saragoza  during  the  siege  of  that  town  iu  1808. 


()4  CHILD!-:    HAROLD. 


LXXXVIir, 


I'Mows  iliei'o  :i  tear  of  pity  for  tlio  dead  ? 
Look  o'vv  tlic  ravage  of  the  reeking  plain  : 
Look  oil  tlie  hands  witii  female  slanghter  red  ; 
Then  to  the  dogs  resign  the  nnljuried  slain, 
Then  to  the  vulture  let  each  corse  remain  ; 
Albeit  unworthy  of  the  prey-bird's  maw, 
Let  their  bleached  bones,  and  blood's  unbleaching  stain. 
Long  mark  the  battle-field  with  hideous  awe  : 
Thus  only  may  our  sons  conceive  the  scenes  we  saw  ! 

LXXXIX. 

Xor  yet,  alas,  the  dreadful  work  is  done  ; 
Fresh  legions  '  pour  adown  the  Pyrenees  :  ^ 
It  deepens  still,  the  work  is  scarce  begun, 
Kor  mortal  eyes  the  distant  end  foresees. 
FalFn  nations  gaze  on  Spain  :  if  freed,  she  frees. 
More  than  her  fell  ^  Pizarros  *  once  enchained. 
Strange  retribution  !  now  Columbia's  ease 
Kepairs  the  wrongs  that  Quito's  ""  sons  sustained. 
While  o'er  the  parent  clime  "  prowls  Murder  unrestrained. 

xc. 

Not  all  the  blood  at  Talavera    shed, 

Not  all  the  marvels  of  Barossa's  fight,® 

Not  Albuei"a°  lavish  of  the  dead. 

Have  Avon  for  Spain  her  well-asserted  right. 

'  of  the  Frcncli.  ^  (1,^  monntaiiiH  bctwcoii  France  and  Spain.  3  cruel. 

*  referring  to  the  Spaniard  Pi/arro,  who  coniiuercd  and  pliinderctl  I'oru  iu  the  IGtli 
century. 

s  Quito,  in  South  America,  concpiercd  by  the  Spaniards. 

*  Spain. 

'  a  town  of  Spain,  at  which  the  Euglisli  and  Spaniards  defeated  the  French  in  a  ^r^'at, 
battle,  July  27  and  28,  1800. 

*>  at  Baro(<fa,  a  viUage  of  Spain,  a  small  number  uf  English  defeated  a  Frencli  army  iu 
Marcli,  1811. 

'  sec  note  1,  page  53. 


CHILDE    HAROLD.  65 

When  shall  her  Olive-Braiich  be  free  from  blight  ? 
When  shall  she  breathe  her  from  the  blushing  toil  ? 
How  many  a  doubtful  day  shall  sink  in  night, 
Ere  the  Frank '  robber  turn  him  froiu  his  spoil, 
And  Freedom's  stranger-tree  grow  native  of  the  soil  ? 


XCIII. 

Here  is  one  fytte '  of  Harold's  pilgrimage. 
Ye  who  of  him  may  further  seek  to  know. 
Shall  find  some  tidings  in  a  future  page, 
If  he  that  rhymeth  now  may  scribble  more. 
Is  this  too  much  ?     Stern  critic,  say  not  so  ; 
Patience  I  and  yo  shall  hear  what  he  beheld 
In  other  lands,  where  he  was  doomed  to  go  : 
Lands  that  contain  the  monuments  of  Eld,' 
Ere  Greece  and   Grecian  arts  by  barbarous  hands  were 
quelled. 

CANTO  THE  SECOND. 

I. 

Come,  blue-eyed  maid  of  heaven  I  *— but  thou,  alas, 
Didst  never  yet  one  mortal  song  inspire — 
Goddess  of  Wisdom  I  here  '  thy  temple  was. 
And  is,  despite  of  war  and  wasting  fire, 
And  years,  that  bade  thy  worship  to  expire  ; 
But  worse  than  steel,  and  flame,  and  ages  slow. 
Is  the  drear  scepter  and  dominion  dire 
Of  men  who  never  felt  the  sacred  glow 
That  thoughts  of  thee  and  thine  on  polished  breasts  be- 
stow. 

'  French.  *  canto.  '  olden  limes;  antiquity. 

*  Palla.«,  goddess  of  wisdom,  named  Minerva  hy  the  Romans. 

*  at  Alhen?,  of  wliicii  Pallas  wa.s  tlie  r)atron  <^;oddess. 


66  CHILDE   HAROLD. 


Ancient  of  days  !  iiugnst  Atliena  I'  where, 
Where  are  thy  men  of  might,  thy  grand  in  soul  ? 
Gone — glimmering  tlirongh  the  dream  of  things  tiiat 

were  : 
First  in  the  nice  that  led  to  Glory's  goal, 
Tliey  won,  and  passed  away — is  this  the  whole  ? 
A  school-boy's  tale,  the  wonder  of  an  hour  I 
Tlie  warrior's  weapon  and  the  sophist's '  stole  ' 
x\re  sought  in  vain,  and  o'er  eacli  moldering  tower. 
Dim  with  the  mist  of  years,  gray  flits  the  shade  of  power. 


X. 

Here  let  me  sit  upon  this  massy  stone. 
The  marble  column's  yet  unshaken  base  ! 
Here,  son  of  Saturn,*  was  thy  fav'rite  throne  !  ' 
Mightiest  of  many  such!     Hence  let  me  trace 
The  latent  grandeur  of  thy  dwelling-place. 
It  may  not  be  :  nor  even  can  Fancy's  eye 
Eestore  what  time  hath  labored  to  deface. 
Yet  these  proud  pillars  claim  no  passing  sigh  ; 
Unmoved  the  Moslem"  sits,  the  light  Greek  carols  by.' 


XI. 

But  who,  of  all  the  plunderers  of  yon  fane 
On  hio:h,  where  Pallas  linfijered,  loath  to  flee 
The  latest  relic  of  her  ancient  reign — 
The  last,  the  Avorst,  dull  spoiler,  Avho  was  he  ? 

>  Atlioiis,  capital  of  Greece.  "  sophists,  public  teachers  iu  ancient  Grcici'. 

3  a  loose  dress  rcacliing  to  the  feet. 
<  king  of  the  gods.    Jupiter  was  liis  son  and  successor. 
6  there  was  a  niagiiilicent  temple  of  Jujjiter  in  Athens. 
*  l)eiiever  in  the  religion  of  Mohanmicd. 

'  meaning  that  the  Mns-lnn  and  Creek  inhahilants  of  Athens  pas.s  by  the  ruins  of  the 
ancient  lompli-.>5  and  moiniuu-nt,'^  of  the  cily  without  iuterest  or  apitreciatiou. 


CHILDE   HAROLD.  67 

Blush,  Caledonia  I  *  such  thy  son "  could  be  ! 
Enofland  I  I  iov  no  child  he  was  of  thine  : 
Thy  free-born  men  should  spare  what  once  was  free  ; 
Yet  they  could  violate  each  saddening  shrine, 
And  bear  these  altars  o^er  the  long  reluctant  brine/ 

XT. 

Cold  is  the  heart,  fair  Greece,  that  looks  on  thee, 
Xor  feels  as  lovers  o'er  the  dust  they  loved  ; 
Dull  is  the  eye  that  will  not  weep  to  see 
Thy  walls  defaced,  thy  moldering  shrines  removed 
By  British  hands,  which  it  had  best  behoved 
To  guard  those  relics  ne'er  to  be  restored. 
Curst  be  the  hour  when  from  their  isle  they  roved, 
And  once  again  thy  hapless  bosom  gored. 
And  snatched  thy  shrinking  Gods  to  northern   climes 
abhorred  ! 

XVI. 

But  where  is  Harold  ?  shall  I  then  forget 
To  urge  the  gloomy  wanderer  o'er  the  wave  ? 
Little  recked  he  of  all  that  men  regret ; 
Xo  loved  one  now  in  feisfned  lament  could  rave  ; 
No  friend  the  parting  hand  extended  gave. 
Ere  the  cold  stranger  passed  to  other  climes. 
Hard  is  his  heart  whom  charms  may  not  enslave  ; 
But  Harold  felt  not  as  in  other  times, 
And  left  without  a  sigh  the  land  of  war  and  crimes. 

XVII. 

He  that  has  sailed  upon  the  dark  blue  sea. 
Has  viewed  at  times,  I  ween,  a  full  fair  sight ; 

1  ancient  name  of  Scotland. 

2  the  Earl  of  Elgin,  a  Scotch  nobleman,  who  carried  away  from  the  temple  of  Minerva 
in  Athens  a  number  of  ancient  sculptures,  now  in  tlie  British  Museum,  London,  and 
known  as  the  Elgin  Marbles. 

3  the  ocean — as  if  long  unwilling  to  bear  away  from  Greece  the  relics  of  her  ancient 
grandeur. 


68  CIITI.DE    HAROLD. 

When  the  i'rcsli  l)reeze  is  fjiir  as  breeze  may  be. 
The  wiiite  sails  set,  the  gallant  frigate  tight. 
Masts,  spires,  and  strand  retiring  to  the  right. 
The  glorious  main  expanding  o'er  the  bow. 
The  convoy  spread  like  wild  swans  in  their  flight. 
The  dullest  sailer  wearing'  bravely  now. 
So  gayly  curl  the  waves  before  each  dashing  prow. 

XVIII. 

And  oh,  the  little  warlike  world  within  ! 
The  well-reeved  ^  guns,  the  netted  canopy/ 
The  hoarse  command,  the  busy  humming  din. 
When,  at  a  word,  the  tops  are  manned  on  high  : 
Hark  to  the  Boatswain's  call,  the  cheering  cry, 
AVhile  through  the  seaman's  hand  the  tackle  glides 
Or  school-boy  Midshipman  that,  standing  by, 
Strains  his  shrill  pipe,  as  good  or  ill  betides. 
And  well  the  docile  crew  that  skillful  urchin  guides. 

XIX. 

White  is  the  glassy  deck,  without  a  stain, 
Where  on  the  watch  the  staid  Lieutenant  walks  : 
Look  on  that  part  which  sacred  doth  remain 
For  the  lone  chieftain,''  who  majestic  stalks. 
Silent  and  feared  by  all  :  not  oft  he  talks 
With  aught  beneath  him,  if  he  would  preserve 
That  strict  restraint,  which  broken,  ever  balks 
Conquest  and  Fame  :  but  Britons  rarely  swerve 
From  law,  however  stern,  which  tends  their  strength  to 
nerve. 

XX. 

Blow  !  swiftly  blow,  tliou  keel-compelling  gale  ! 
Till  the  broad  sun  withdraws  his  lessening  ray; 

1  enduring.  2  fastened. 

3  net  covering  to  prevent  blocks  or  splinters  from  falling  on  deck.  ••  the  captain. 


CHILDE  HAROLD.  69 

Then  must  the  pennant-bearer  slacken  sail. 
That  lagging  barks  may  make  their  lazy  way. 
Ah  !  grievance  sore,,  and  listless  dull  delay. 
To  Avaste  on  sluggish  hulks  the  sweetest  breeze  ! 
AVhat  leagues  are  lost  before  the  dawn  of  day. 
Thus  loitering  pensive  on  the  willing  seas. 
The  flapping  sails  hauled  down  to  halt  for  logs  like  these  ! 

xxr. 

The  moon  is  up  ;  by  Heaven,  a  lovely  eve  ! 
Long  streams  of  light  o^er  dancing  waves  expand  ! 
Now  lads  on  shore  may  sigh,  and  maids  believe  : 
Such  be  our  fate  wlien  we  return  to  land  ! 
Meantime  some  rude  Arion^s  ^  restless  hand 
AVakes  the  brisk  harmony  that  sailors  love  : 
A  circle  there  of  merry  listeners  stand. 
Or  to  some  well-known  measure^  featly  move. 
Thoughtless,  as  if  on  shore  they  still  were  free  to  rove. 

xxir. 

Through  Calpe's  ^  straits  survey  the  steepy  shore ; 
Europe  and  Afric,  on  each  other  gaze  ! 
Lands  of  the  dark-eyed  Maid  and  dusky  Moor,^ 
Alike  beheld  beneath  pale  Hecate's  blaze  :  ° 
How  softly  on  the  Spanish  shore  she  *^  plays, 
Disclosing  rock,  and  slo23e,  and  forest  brown. 
Distinct,  though  darkening  witli  her  waning  phase  ; 
But  Mauritania's  '  giant  shadows  frown. 
From  mountain-cliff  to  coast  descendino;  somber  down. 

XXIII. 

'Tis  night,  when  Meditation  bids  us  feel 

AVe  once  have  loved,  tliough  love  is  at  an  end  : 

1  Arion,  a  famous  musician  of  ancient  Greece.       2  tune. 
3  Calpe,  ancient  name  of  Gibraltar. 

*  Spain  on  one  side  of  the  strait  and  Morocco  on  the  other. 

s  the  light  of  the  moon.    Hecate  was  one  of  the  moon-goddesses  of  the  ancients. 

*  the  moon.  ''  Mauritania,  Eoman  name  of  Morocco. 


70  CHILDE   HAROLD. 

The  lic;irt,  lone  mourner  of  its  baffled  zeal, 
Tlioni^h  friendless  now,  will  dream  it  had  a  friend. 
AVho  with  the  Aveight  of  years  would  "wish  to  bend, 
AVhen  Youth  itself  survives  young  Love  and  Joy  ? 
Alas  !  when  mingling  souls  forget  to  blend, 
Death  hath  but  little  left  him  to  destroy  ! 
Ah,  happy  years  !  once  more  who  would  not  be  a  boy  ? 

XXV. 

To  sit  on  rocks,  to  muse  o'er  flood  and  fell,' 
To  slowly  trace  the  forest's  shady  scene. 
Where  things  that  own  not  man's  dominion  dwell. 
And  mortal  foot  hath  ne'er  or  rarely  been  ; 
To  climb  the  trackless  mountain  all  unseen. 
With  the  wild  flock  that  never  needs  a  fold  ; 
Alone  o'er  steeps  and  foaming  falls  to  lean  : 
This  is  not  solitude  ;  'tis  but  to  hold 
Converse  with  Nature's  charms,  and  view  her  stores  un- 
rolled. 

XXVI. 

But  midst  the  crowd,  the  hum,  the  shock  of  men. 
To  hear,  to  see,  to  feel,  and  to  possess. 
And  roam  along,  the  world's  tired  denizen. 
With  none  who  bless  us,  none  whom  we  can  bless  ; 
Minions  of  splendor  shrinking  from  distress  ! 
None  that,  with  kindred  consciousness  endued, 
If  we  were  not,  would  seem  to  smile  the  less 
Of  all  that  flattered,  followed,  sought,  and  sued  : 
This  is  to  be  alone  ;  this,  this  is  solitude  ! 

XXXYII. 

Dear  Nature  is  the  kindest  mother  still ; 
Though  always  changing,  in  her  aspect  mild  : 

J  a  8tonv  hill. 


CHILDE    HAROLD.  71 

From  her  bare  bosom  let  me  take  my  fill. 
Her  never-weaned,  though  not  her  favored  child. 
Oh!  she  is  fairest  in  her  features  wild, 
Where  nothing  polished  dares  pollute  her  path  : 
To  me  by  day  or  night  she  ever  smiled. 
Though  I  have  marked  her  when  none  other  hath. 
And  sought  her  more  and  more,  and  loved  her  best  in 
wrath. 

XXXVIII. 

Land  of  Albania  I '  where  Iskander ""  rose  ; 
Theme  of  the  young,  and  beacon  of  the  wise. 
And  he  his  namesake,^  whose  oft-baffled  foes, 
Slirunk  from  his  deeds  of  chivalrous  emprise  :* 
Land  of  Albania  I  let  me  bend  mine  eyes 
On  thee,  thou  rugged  nurse  of  savage  men  ! 
The  cross  descends,^  thy  minarets^  arise. 
And  the  pale  crescent '  sparkles  in  the  glen, 
Throudi  manv  a  cvpress  strove  within  each  citv's  ken. 

« 

XXXIX. 

Childe  Harold  sailed,  and  passed  the  barren  spot 
Where  sad  Penelope  o'erlooked  the  wave  ; ' 

1  country  north  of  Greece,  bordering  the  Adriatic  Sea. 

2  Alexander  (Turkish  form,  Iskander)  the  Great,  famous  conqueror,  who  lived  three 
centuries  before  Christ.     He  was  king  of  Macedonia,  part  of  which  was  in  Albania. 

3  Scanderbeg,  or  Iskander;  called  also  Lord  or  Prince  Alexander,  a  famous  patriot  chief 
of  Albania  in  the  15th  century. 

♦  enterprise. 

s  referring  to  the  suppression  of  Christianity  in  Albania,  by  the  Turks,  after  the  death  of 
Scanderbeg. 

6  turrets  on  Mohammedan  mosques.  "  Minarets  arise  "■— meaning  the  establishment  of 
the  Mohammedan  (Turkish)  religion. 

^  quarter-moon :  the  emblem  on  the  Turkish  national  flag. 

s  Thiaki,  one  of  the  Ionian  Islands,  west  of  Greece,  anciently  called  Ithaca,  of  which 
the  famous  Ulysses  was  king.  During  his  absence  at  the  siege  of  Troy,  and  his  subse- 
quent wanderings,  his  wife  Penelope  watched  and  waited  for  him  with  affectionate 
devotion. 


72  CHILDE   HAROLD. 

Alul  onward  viewed  tlio  inoinit,  not  yet  forgot. 
The  lover's  refuge,  and  the  Jjesbian's  grave.' 
Park  Sappho  !  could  not  verse  immortal  save 
That  breast  inibned  with  such  immortal  fire  ? 
Could  she  not  live  who  life  eternal  gave  ? 
If  life  eternal  may  await  the  lyre, 
That  only  Heaven  to  Avhicli  Earth's  children  may  aspire. 

XL. 

^Twas  on  a  Grecian  autumn's  gentle  eve, 
Childe  Harold  hailed  Lencadia's  Cape  afar ; 
A  spot  he  longed  to  see,  nor  cared  to  leave  : 
Oft  did  lie  mark  the  scenes  of  vanished  war, 
Actium,''  Lepanto,^  fatal  Trafalgar  :^ 
Mark  them  nnmoved,  for  he  would  not  delight 
(Born  beneath  some  remote  inglorious  star) 
In  themes  of  bloody  fray,  or  gallant  fight, 
But  loathed  the  bravo's  trade,  and  laughed  at  martial 
wight. ' 


XLTI 

Morn  dawms  ;  and  with  it  stern  Albania's  hills. 
Dark  Suli's  rocks,"  and  Pindus"  inland  peak, 

1  a  rock  on  Santa  Maura  (anciently  called  Leucadia),  one  of  the  Ionian  Islands.  From 
this  rock,  it  is  said,  the  Greek  poetess  Sappho  (born  in  the  Island  of  Lesbos,  on  the  coast 
of  Asia  Minor)  cast  herself  into  the  sea,  in  a  lit  of  grief  and  despair  at  the  neglect  of  a 
man  she  loved. 

2  a  town  and  cape  (now  called  Azio)  on  the  west  coast  of  Greece,  near  which  a  sea- 
battle  took  place  in  31  b.c,  between  the  fleets  of  Octavius  (afterwards  the  Emperor 
Augustus)  and  Mark  Antony,  two  opposing  leaders  in  the  Roman  civil  war  that  followed 
the  death  of  Julius  Cnesar. 

3  a  town  on  the  coast  of  the  Gulf  of  Corinth,  Greece,  near  which  the  fleets  of  Spain  and 
several  Italian  states  defeated  the  Turks  in  a  great  battle  on  October  7,  1571. 

4  a  cape  on  the  south  coast  of  Spain,  off  which,  on  October  21,  1805,  the  British 
Admiral  Nelson  gained  a  great  victory  over  the  French  and  Spanish  fleets.  Nelson  him- 
self was  killed  in  this  battle. 

*  person. 

*  mountains  in  Albania. 

'  a  mountain  chain  between  Euirus  and  Thessaly,  north  of  Greece. 


CHILDE   HAROLD.  ^^ 

Robed  half  in  mist,  bedewed  with  snowy  rills, 
Arraved  m  many  a  dun  and  purple  streak. 
Arise  ;  and  as  the  clouds  along  them  break, 
Disclose  the  dwelling  of  the  mountaineer  ; 
Here  roams  the  wolf,  the  eagle  whets  his  beak. 
Birds,  beasts  of  prey,  and  wilder  men  appear. 
And  gathering  storms  around  convulse  the  closing  year. 

XLIII. 

Xow  Harold  felt  himself  at  length  alone,  ^ 
And  bade  to  Christian  tongues'  a  long  adieu  : 
:N'ow  he  adventured  on  a  shore  unknown, 
Which  all  admire,  but  many  dread  to  view  : 
His  breast  was  armed  Against  fate,  his  wants  were  few  : 
Peril  he  sought  not,  but  ne'er  shrank  to  meet  : 
The  scene  was  savage,  but  the  scene  was  new  ; 
This  made  the  ceaseless  toil  of  travel  sweet  ; 
Beat  back  keen  winter's  blast,  and  welcomed  summer's 
heat. 

XLVI. 

From  the  dark  barriers  of  that  rugged  clime. 
E'en  to  the  center  of  Illyria's '  vales, 
Childe  Harold  passed  o'er  many  a  mount  sublime. 
Through  lands  scarce  noticed  in  historic  tales  : 
Yet  in^famed  Attica'  such  lovely  dales 
Are  rarelv  seen  ;  nor  can  fair  Tempo '  boast 
A  charn/they  know  not  ;  loved  Parnassus '  fails, 
Thoucrh  classic  ground. °  and  consecrated  most, 
To  match  some  spots  that  lurk  within  this  lowering  coast. 

:  Christian  langiaages  :  meaning  Christian  people,  as  he  was  about  to  travel  in  countries 
inhabited  bv  Mohammedans.  ^  .    .    e 

2  Illvria.  country  north  of  Albania,  bordering  the  Adriatic  Sea. 

3  ancient  name  of  the  district  of  Greece  in  which  Athens  is  situated. 

4  a  beautiful  valley  of  Thessaly,  a  district  of  ancient  Greece. 

ctrnTonSf  occurred  great  events  described  in  the  ancient  classics,  i. ..,  cele- 
brated  Greek  and  Latin  authors. 


<4  CHILDE   HAROLD. 

xLvrr. 

lie  passed  l)loak  Piiulus,  Aflierusiji's  lake/ 
And  left  the  primal  city''  of  the  land, 
And  onwards  did  his  further  journey  take 
To  greet  Albania's  chief/  whose  dread  command 
Is  lawless  law  ;  for  with  a  bloody  hand 
lie  sways  a  nation,  turbulent  and  bold  ; 
Yet  here  and  there  some  daring  mountain-band 
Disdain  his  power,  and  from  their  rocky  hold 
Hurl  their  defiance  far^  nor  yield,  unless  to  gold." 

LII. 

No  city's  towers  pollute  the  lovely  view  ; 
Unseen  is  Yanina,  though  not  remote. 
Veiled  by  the  screen  of  hills  :  here  men  are  few. 
Scanty  the  hamlet,  rare  the  lonely  cot  ; 
But,  peering  down  each  precipice,  the  goat 
Browseth  :  and,  pensive  o'er  his  scattered  flock. 
The  little  shepherd  in  his  white  capote^ 
Doth  lean  his  boyish  form  along  the  rock. 
Or  in  his  cave  awaits  the  tempest's  short-lived* shock. 

LITI. 

Oh  !  where,  Dodona,^  is  thine  aged  grove. 
Prophetic  fount,  and  oracle  divine  ? 
"What  valley  echoed  the  response  of  Jove  V 
What  trace  remaineth  of  the  Thunderer's  ®  shrine  ? 

1  a  lake  of  Epinip,  northwest  of  Greece. 

2  Yanina,  chief  city  of  Albania. 

3  the  celebrated  Ali  Pacha,  governor  of  the  country. 

*  the  Castle  of  Suli  was  held  for  eighteen  years  against  30,000  Albanians,  but  was  at  last 
taken  by  bribery. 

*  cape  ;  cloak. 

«  an  ancient  city  of  Epirus  where  there  were  a  famous  temple  of  Jupiter,  and  an  oak 
tree,  from  the  boughs  of  which  the  god  delivered  oracles,  or  prophecies,  to  those  who  came 
to  consult  him. 

'  another  name  of  Jupiter. 

8  as  god  of  the  heavens,  Jupiter  was  called  the  Thunderer. 


CHILDE   HAROLD.  <C» 

All,  all  forgotten— and  shall  man  repine 
That  his  frail  bonds  to  fleeting  life  are  broke  ? 
Cease,  fool  I  the  fate  of  gods  may  well  be  thine  : 
Wonldst  thou  survive  the  marble  or  the  oak, 
When  nations,  tongues,  and  words   must  sink  beneath 
the  stroke  ? 

LIV. 

Epirus'  bounds  recede,  and  mountains  fail  ; 

Tired  of  upgazing  still,  the  wearied  eye 

Reposes  gladly  on  as  smooth  a  vale 

As  ever  Spring  yclad  in  grassy  dye  : 

Ev'n  on  a  plain  no  humble  beauties  lie, 
.     Where  some  bold*  river  breaks  the  long  expanse. 

And  woods  along  the  banks  are  waving  high. 

Whose  shadows  in  the  glassy  waters  dance, 
Or  with  the  moonbeam  sleep  in  Midnight's  solemn  trance. 

LV. 

The  sun  had  sunk  behind  vast  Tomerit,' 
The  Laos '  wide  and  fierce  came  roaring  by  ; 
The  shades  of  wonted  night  were  gathering  yet. 
When,  down  the  steep  banks  winding  wearily 
Childe  Harold  saw,  like  meteors  in  the  sky. 
The  glittering  minarets  of  Tepalen,' 
Whose  walls' overlook  the  stream  ;  and  drawing  nigh, 
He  heard  the  busy  hum  of  warrior-men 
Swelling  the  breeze  that  sighed  along  the  lengthening 
glen. 

LYI. 

He  passed  the  sacred  Haram's '  silent  tower. 
And  underneath  the  wide  o'erarching  gate 

1  a  mountain.of  Epirus;  anciently  called  Tomarus. 

2  a  river  of  Albania. 

3  the  country  palace  of  Ali  Pacha.  .     „     ,  ^     ,u 

4  haram.  apartments  occupied  by  the  females  in  dwelling-houses  m  Turkey  and  other 

countries  of  the  East. 


76  CHTLDE   HAROLD. 

Surveyed  the  (Iwelliug  of  lliis  chief  of  power/ 
Wliere  all  around  ])roclaiined  his  high  estate. 
Amidst  no  common  pomj)  tlie  despot  sate, 
AVhile  busy  preparation  shook  tlie  court  ; 
Shives,  eunuchs,''  soldiers,  guests,  and  santons'  wait 
A\'ithin,  a  ])alace,  and  without,  a  fort, 
Here  men  of  every  clime  appear  to  make  resort. 

LVir. 

Richly  caparisoned,  a  ready  row 
Of  armed  horse,  and  many  a  warlike  store. 
Circled  the  wide-extending  court  below  ; 
Above,  strange  groups  adorned  the  corridor ; 
And  oft-times  through  the  area^s  echoing  door. 
Some  high-capped  Tartar  *  spurred  his  steed  away  ; 
The  Turk,  the  Greek,  the  Albanian  and  the  Moor, 
Here  mingled  in  their  many-hued  array, 
AVhile  the  deep  war-drum's  sound  announced  the  close  of 
day. 

LYIII. 

The  wild  Albanian  kirtled  ^  to  his  knee, 
AVith  shawl-girt  head  and  ornamented  gun. 
And  gold-embroidered  garments,  fair  to  see  : 
The  crimson-scarfed  men  of  Macedon  ;  ® 
The  Delhi'  with  his  cap  of  terror  on. 
And  crooked  glaive  ;  the  lively,  sup2:>le  Greek  ; 

The  bearded  Turk,  that  rarely  deigns  to  speak. 
Master  of  all  around,  too  potent  to  be  meek, 

1  AH  Pacha.  2  guards  or  attendants  of  the  Haram. 

3  religious  Turks,  roganicd  by  the  people  as  saints. 

*  native  of  Tartary,  a  country  of  Asia  ;  formerly  applied  also  to  a  native  of  southwest- 
ern Kussia,  bordering  Turkey.  s  kirtle,  a  gown  ;  a  mantle. 
8  Macedonia,  country  east  of  Albania.            '  horseman. 


CHILDE   HAROLD.  77 

LIX. 

Are  mixed  conspicuous  ;  '  some  recline  in  groups. 
Scanning  the  motley  scene  that  varies  round  ; 
There  some  grave  Moslem'  to  devotion  stoops, 
And  some  that  smoke,  and  some  that  play  are  fonnd  ; 
Here  the  Albanian  proudly  treads  the  ground  : 
Half-wliispering  there  the  Greek  is  heard  to  prate  ; 
Hark  I  from  the  mosque  the  nightly  solemn  sound, 
The  muezzin's'  call  doth  shake  the  minaret, 
*' There  is  no  god  but   God  I— to    prayer— lo  I    God    is 
great  !  " 

LX. 

Just  at  this  season  Ramazani's  fast ' 
Through  the  long  day  its  penance  did  maintain. 
But  when  the  lingering  twilight  hoar  was  past, 
Eevel  and  feast  assumed  the  rule  again  : 
Now  all  was  bustle,  and  the  menial  train 
Prepared  and  spread  the  plenteous  board  within  ; 
The  vacant  gallery  now  seemed  made  in  vain, 
But  from  the  chambers  came  the  mingling  din. 
As  page  and  slave  anon  '  were  passing  out  and  in. 

1  Byron,  in  a  letter  to  his  mother,  after  his  visit  to  Ali  Paclia,  thus  describes  the  scene  at 

the  palace  : 

"  The  Albanians  in  their  dresses  (the  most  magnificent  in  the  world,  consistmg  of  along 
white  kilt.  <^old-worked  cloak,  crimson  velvet  gold-laced  jacket  and  waistcoat,  silver- 
mounted  pistols  and  daggers)  ;  the  Tartars  with  their  high  caps  :  the  Turks  in  their  vast 
pelisses  and  turbans  ;  the  soldiers  and  black  slaves  with  the  horses,  the  former  m  groups, 
in  an  immense  large  open  gallery  in  front  of  the  palace,  the  latter  placed  in  a  kind  of 
cloister  below  it  :  two  hundred  steeds  ready  caparisoned  to  move  in  a  moment :  couriers 
entering  or  passing  out  with  despatches  ;  the  kettle-drums  beating  :  boys  calling  the  hour 
from  the  minaret  of  the  mosque  ;-altogether,  with  the  singular  appearance  of  the  build- 
ing itself,  formed  a  new  and  delightful  spectacle  to  a  stranger."" 

2  Mussulman  ;  iMohammedan. 

3  The  muezzin,  or  chanter,  calls  the  people  to  prayer  from  the  minaret  of  the  mosque. 
He  cries  out  in  a  loud  voice  such  words  as.  "There  is  no  god  but  God  :  Mohammed  id 
God's  prophet :  come  to  prayer  :  God  is  great."    The  Mohammedans  pray  five  times  a  day. 

4  Ramazan.  or  Ramadan,  the  ninth  month  of  the  Mohammedan  year,  is  the  Turkish 
Lent,  or  fasting  season.  In  this  month  strict  fast  is  kept  during  the  daytime,  but  at  night 
feasting  and  amusements  are  carried  on. 

6  frequently. 


78  CHILDE    HAROLD. 

LXTT. 

In  niarble-paved  pavilion,  wliore  a  spring 
Of  living  water  from  the  center  rose, 
AVliose  bubbling  did  a  genial  freshness  fling. 
And  soft  voluptuous  couclies  breathed  repose, 
Ali  reclined,  a  man  of  war  and  woes  : 
Yet  in  his  lineaments  ye  can  not  trace, 
"While  Gentleness  her  milder  radiance  throws 
Along  that  aged  venerable  face, 
The  deeds  that  lurk  beneath,  and  stain  him  with  disgrace/ 
•  •..., 

LXIV. 

Mid  many  things  most  new  to  ear  and  eye. 
The  pilgrim  rested  here  his  weary  feet, 
And  gazed  around  on  Moslem  luxury. 
Till  quickly  wearied  with  that  si^acious  seat 
Of  Wealth  and  Wantonness,'  the  choice  retreat 
Of  sated  Grandeur  from  the  city's  noise. 
And  were  it  humbler,  it  in  sooth  were  sweet  ; 
But  Peace  abhorreth  artificial  joys, 
And  Pleasure,  leagued  with  Pomp,  the  zest  of  both  de- 
stroys. 

LXV. 

Fierce  are  Albani^s  children,  yet  they  lack 
Not  virtues,  were  those  virtues  more  mature. 
Where  is  the  foe  that  ever  saw  their  back  P'' 
Who  can  so  well  the  toil  of  war  endure  ? 
Their  native  fastnesses  not  more  secure 
Than  they  in  doubtful  time  of  troublous  need  : 
Their  wrath  how  deadly  I  but  their  friendship  sure, 
When  Gratitude  or  Valor  bids  them  bleed. 
Unshaken  rushing  on  wherever  their  chief  may  lead. 

'  Ali  Pacha  wae  a  ferocious  and  cruel  man,  though  he  did  much  good  in  Albania  bysiip- 
pressiug  bands  of  robbers,  constructing  roads,  and  maintaining  order  and  justice. 
'  meaning  that  they  never  ran  away  in  a  fight,  through  fear  of  the  foe. 


CHILDE   HAROLD.  79 

Lxvr. 
Childe  Harold  saw  them  in  their  chieftain's  tower, 
Thronging  to  war  in  splendor  and  success  ; 
«      And  after  viewed  them,  when,  within  their  power, 
Himself  awhile  the  victim  of  distress  ; 
That  saddening  hour  when  bad  men  hotlier  press  : 
But  these  did  shelter  him  beneath  their  roof, 
When  less  barbarians  would  have  cheered  him  less, 
'  And  fellow-countrymen  have  stood  aloof — 
In  aught  that  tries  tlie  heart  how  few  withstand  the  proof  I 

LXYII. 

It  chanced  that  adverse  winds  once  drove  his  bark 
Full  on  the  coast  of  Suli's  shaggy  shore,' 
When  all  around  was  desolate  and  dark  ; 
To  land  was  perilous,  to  sojourn  more  ; 
Yet  for  a  while  the  mariners  forebore, 
Dubious  to  trust  where  treachery  might  lurk : 
At  length  they  ventured  forth,  though  doubting  sore 
That  those  who  loathe  alike  the  Frank '  and  Turk 
Might  once  again  renew  their  ancient  butcher-work. 

LXVIII. 

Vain  fear  I  the  Suliotes  stretched  the  welcome  hand, 
Led  them  o'er  rocks  and  past  the  dangerous  swamp, 
Kinder  than  polished  slaves,  though  not  so  bland, 
And  piled  the  hearth,  and  wrung  their  garments  damp. 
And  filled  the  bowl,  and  trimmed  the  cheerful  lamp. 
And  spread  the  fare  :  though  homely,  all  they  had  : 
Such  conduct  bears  Philanthropy's  rare  stamp — 
To  rest  the  weary  and  to  soothe  the  sad. 
Doth  lesson  '  happier  men,  and  shame  at  least  the  bad. 

1  the  coast  of  Epirus. 

i  the  French.     AH  Pacha,  in  his  war  against  the  Suliotes  was  aided  by  the  French 
hence  the  Suliotes  hated  the  Frank  as  well  as  the  Turk. 
3  here  a  verb,  meaning  to  teach. 


80  CHILDE   HAROLD. 

LXIX. 
1l  came  tu  pass,  that  wlieii  he  did  address 
Himself  to  quit  at  lengtli  this  mountain  hmd. 
Combined  marauders  lialf-way  barred  egress, 
And  wasted  far  and  near  with  glaive  and  brand  ; 
And  th-erefore  did  he  taive  a  trusty  band 
To  traverse  Acarnania^s  '  forest  wide. 
In  war  well  seasoned,  and  with  labors  tanned. 
Till  he  did  greet  white  Achelous'"  tide. 
And  from  his  further  bank  ^Etolia's  ^  wolds  espied. 

LXX. 

Where  lone  Utraikey*  f-orms  its  circling  cove. 
And  weary  waves  retire  to  gleam  at  rest. 
How  brown  the  foliage  of  the  green  hilFs  grove, 
Nodding  at  midnight  o'er  the  calm  bay's  breast, 
-  As  winds  come  whispering  lightly  from  the  west, 
Kissing,  not  ruffling,  the  blue  deep's  serene  : 
Here  Harold  was  received  a  welcome  guest  ; 
Nor  did  lie  pass  unmoved  the  gentle  scene. 
For  many  a  joy  could  lie  from  night's  soft  presence  glean. 

LXXl. 

On  the  smooth  shore  the  night-fires  brightly  blazed. 
The  feast  was  done,  the  red  wine  circling  fast. 
And  he  that  unawares  had  there  ygazed 
AVith  gaping  wonderment  had  stared  aghast ; 
For  ere  night's  midmost,  stillest  hour  was  past, 
The  native  revels  of  the  troop  began  ; 
Each  palikar  '"  his  saber  from  him  cast, 

1  Acarnania,  a  mountainous  district  in  tlic  northwest  of  (Jrcece,  bordering  the  Ionian  Sea, 

2  a  river  of  Acarnania,  now  called  Ayi)n)i)olanio,  i.  e.,  White  River,  from  the  cream  color 
of  its  waters. 

3  .Etolia,  a  district  of  North  Greece,  lying  east  of  Acaniania. 

*  a  small  place  situated  in  one  of  the  bays  of  the  Gulf  of  Arta,  on  the  northwest  coast  of 
Greece,  between  Epirus  and  Acarnania. 

*  soldier  ;  properly,  a  lad. 


CHILDE   HAROLD.  81 

And  bounding  hand  in  hand^,  man  linked  to  man. 
Yelling  their  uncouth  dirge,  long  danced  the  kirtled  clan. 

LXXII. 

Childe  Harold  at  a  little  distance  stood, 
And  viewed,  but  not  displeased,  the  revelrie, 
IS'or  hated  harmless  mirth,  however  rude  : 
In  sooth,  it  was  no  vulgar  sight  to  see 
Their  barbarous,  yet  their  not  indecent  glee  : 
And  as  the  flames  along  their  faces  gleamed. 
Their  gestures  nimble,  dark  eyes  flashing  free. 
The  long  wild  locks  that  to  their  girdles  streamed. 
While    thus    in    concert   they    this    lay    half    sung,    half 
screamed  : 

Tambourgi  I '  Tambourgi  I  thy  ^larum  afar  i 

Gives  hope  to  the  valiant,  and  promise  of  war ; 
All  the  sons  of  the  mountains  arise  at  the  note, 
Chimariot,  Illyrian,  and  dark  Suliote  I  ^ 

Oh  I  who  is  more  brave  than  a  dark  Suliote, 

In  his  snowy  camese  ^  and  his  shaggy  capote  ? 

To  the  wolf  and  the  vulture  he  leaves  his  Avild  flock, 

And  descends  to  the  plain  like  the  stream  from  the  rock. 

Shall  the  sons  of  Chimari,  who  never  forgive 
The  fault  of  a  friend,  bid  an  enemy  live  ? 
Let  those  guns  so  unerring  such  vengeance  forego  ? 
What  mark  is  so  fair  as  the  breast  of  a  foe  ? 

]\[acedonia  sends  forth  her  invincible  race  ; 
For  a  time  they  abandon  the  cave  and  the  chase  : 
But  those  scarves  of  blood-red  shall  be  redder,  before 
The  saber  is  sheathed  and  the  battle  is  o^er. 

1  drummer  ;  one  who  beats  the  drum. 

2  belonging  to  Chimari,  Ulyria,  and  Suli.  districts  of  Albania. 

3  garment  covering  the  body. 

6 


82  CHILDE   HAROLD. 

Tlien  the  pirates  of  Parga  '  that  dwell  by  the  waves, 
And  teach  the  pale  Franks  what  it  is  to  be  slaves, 
Sliall  leave  on  tlie  beach  the  long  galley  and  oar, 
And  track  to  his  covert  the  captive  on  shore. 

I  ask  not  the  plcasnre  that  riches  supply, 

^[y  saber  shall  win  what  the  feeble  must  buy  : 

Shall  win  the  young  bride  with  her  long  flowing  hair. 

And  many  a  maid  from  her  mother  shall  tear. 

I  love  the  fair  face  of  the  maid  in  her  youth  ; 
Her  caresses  shall  lull  me,  her  music  shall  soothe  : 
Let  her  bring  from  her  chamber  the  many-toned  lyre, 
And  sing  us  a  song  on  the  fall  of  her  sire. 

Remember  the  moment  when  Previsa^  fell. 
The  shrieks  of  the  conquered,  the  conqueror^s  yell; 
The  roofs  that  we  fired,  and  the  plunder  we  shared. 
The  wealthy  we  slaughter'd.  the  lovely  we  spared. 

I  talk  not  of  mercy,  I  talk  not  of  fear  ; 
He  neither  must  know  who  would  serve  the  Vizier  ;  ^ 
Since  the  days  of  our  prophet  the  crescent  ne'er  saw 
A  chief  ever  glorious  like  Ali  Pashaw.* 

Selictar  I^  unsheath  then  our  chief's  scimitar  : 
Tambourgi  !  thy  'larum  gives  jjromise  of  war. 
Ye  mountains  that  see  us  descend  to  the  shore. 
Shall  view  us  as  victors,  or  view  us  no  more  ! 

LXXIII. 

Fair  Greece  !  sad  relic  of  departed  worth  ! 
Immortal,  thougli  no  more  ; "  though  fallen,  great  ! 

1  a  sea-coast  town  of  Epinis. 

2  a  (?ea-C()a8t  town  of  Epiriis,  taken  bj-  the  Albanians  from  the  French. 

'  meaning  Ali  Pacha.  Vizier,  chief  minister  of  a  Turlcish  or  other  Eastern  sovereign. 
Ali  Pacha  was  so  called,  being  niler  of  Albania  under  the  authoritj'  of  the  Sultan  (king) 
of  Turkey.  *  spelled  Pacha,  Pasha,  or  Pashaw  ;  means  governor  or  viceroy 

^  sword-bearer.  ^  though  i(s  ancieni  glory  has  departed. 


CHILDE    HAROI.D.  83 

Who  now  shall  lead  thy  scattered  children  forth. 
And  long  accustomed  bondage  uncreate  ? 
Not  such  thy  sons  who  whilome  did  await. 
The  hopeless  warriors  of  a  willing  doom. 
In  bleak  Thermopylae's  '  sepulchral  strait — 
Oh,  who  that  gallant  spirit  shall  resume, 
Leap  from  Eurotas' '  banks,  and  call  thee  from  the  tomb? 


LXXV. 

In  all  save  form  alone,  how  changed  !  ^  and  who 
That  marks  the  fire  still  sparkling  in  each  eye. 
Who  but  would  deem  their  bosoms  burned  anew 
With  thy  unquenched  beam,  lost  Liberty  !  * 
And  many  dream  wdthal  the  hour  is  nigh 
That  gives  them  back  their  fathers'  heritage  : 
For  foreign  arms  and  aid  they  fondly  sigh, 
Nor  solely  dare  encounter  hostile  rage. 
Or  tear  their  name  defiled  from  Slavery^s  mournful  page. 

LXXYI. 

Hereditary  bondsmen  !  know"  ye  not 
Who  would  be  free  themselves  must  strike  the  blow  ? 
By  their  right  arms  the  conquest  must  be  wrought  I 
Will  Gaul '  or  Muscovite  '  redress  ye  ?     Ko  ! 
True,  they  may  lay  your  proud  despoilers '  low, 

1  ThermopyliB,  a  narrow  mountain  pass  between  Thessaly  and  Locris  (north  Greece), 
Here,  in  480  B.C.,  took  place  the  famous  battle  in  which  Leonidas,  King  of  Sparta  (a  coun- 
try of  Greece),  resisted  the  advance  of  the  Persian  King  Xerxes,  who  had  come  with 
u  great  army  to  invade  the  country.  Leonidas  and  his  little  band,  numbering  only 
Three  hundred,  fought  until  they  were  all  killed  but  one  man,  who  carried  the  news  to 
Sparta. 

'^  a  river  of  Sparta.  t 

*  meaning  the  modern  Greeks. 

*  At  the  time  that  Byron  wrote.  Greece  wag  under  the  oppressive  rule  of  Turkey,  She 
bjcame  an  independent  kingdom  in  1829. 

^  Frenchman. 

"  Russian.    Muscovy  was  formerly  the  name  of  RuesJu. 

7  the  Turks. 


84  CHILDK    HAROLD. 

Hut  not  for  yon  will  Freedom's  altars  flame. 
SJiadc'S  of  the  Helots  I '  trinniph  o'er  yonr  foe  : 
(i recce  I  change  thy  lords,  thy  state  is  still  the  same  : 
Thy  glorious  day  is  o'er,  but  not  thy  years  of  shame. 

LXXXIII. 

This  must  he  feel,  the  true-born  son  of  Greece, 

If  Greece  one  true-born  patriot  still  can  boast : 

Xot  such  as  prate  of  war,  but  skulk  in  peace, 

The  bondsman's  peace,  who  sighs  for  all  he  lost. 

Yet  with  smooth  smile  his  tyrant  can  accost. 

And  wield  the  slavish  sickle,  not  the  sword  : 

Ah,  Greece  !  they  love  thee  least  who  owe  thee  most — 

Their  birth,  their  blood,  and  that  sublime  record 

Of  hero  sires,  who  shame  thy  now  degenerate  horde  !^ 

LXXXV. 

And  yet  how  lovely  in  thine  age  of  woe, 
Land  of  lost  gods  and  godlike  men,  art  thou  ! 
Thy  vales  of  evergreen,  thy  hills  of  snow,^ 
Proclaim  thee  Nature's  varied  favorite  now  ;   • 
Thy  fanes,  thy  temples,  to  thy  surface  bow. 
Commingling  slowly  with  heroic  earth. 
Broke  by  the  share  of  every  rustic  plough  ; 
So  perish  monuments  of  mortal  birth. 
So  perish  all  in  turn,  save  well-recorded  Worth  ; 

LXXXVI. 

Save  wdiere  some  solitary  column  mourns 
Above  its  prostrate  brethren  of  the  cave  ;  * 

>  the  population  of  ancient  Sparta  was  divided  into  four  classes,  one  of  which  was 
formed  of  serfs  or  slaves,  who  were  called  Uelots. 

2  referring  to  the  native  people  of  Greece,  who,  by  submitting  to  Turkish  rule,  dishonored 
the  memory  of  their  great  ancestors. 

3  on  some  of  the  mountains  of  Greece  the  snow  is  never  entirely  melted. 

*  the  cave  or  quarries  of  Mount  Pentelicus,  in  Attica,  where  the  marble  was  obtained 
for  the  magnificent  temples  and  monuments  of  Athens. 


CHILDE    HAROLD.  85 

Save  where  Tritonia's  '  airy  shrine  adorns 
Colonna's  cliff/  and  gleams  along  the  wave ; 
Save  o'er  some  warrior's  half-forgotten  grave. 
Where  the  gray  stones  and  unmolested  grass 
Ao"es.  but  not  oblivion,  feeblv  brave, 
While  strangers  only  not  regardless  pass. 
Lingering  like  me,  perchance,  to  gaze,  and  sigh  '-Alas  \" 

LXXXVII. 

Yet  are  thy  skies  as  blue,  thy  crags  as  wild  ; 
Sweet  are  thy  groves,  and  verdant  are  thy  fields. 
Thine  olives  ripe  as  when  Minerva  smiled, 
And  still  his  honey'd  wealth  Hymettus  '  yields  ; 
There  the  blithe  bee  his  fragrant  fortress  bailds. 
The  free-born  wanderer  of  thy  mountain  air  ; 
Apollo  still  thy  long,  long  summer  gilds, 
Still  in  his  beam  Mendeli's*  marbles  glare  ; 
Art,  Glory,  Freedom  fail,  but  Xature  still  is  fair. 

LXXXVIII. 

"Where'er  we  tread  'tis  haunted,  holy  ground ; 
Xo  earth  of  thine  is  lost  in  vulgar  mold. 
But  one  vast  realm  of  wonder  spreads  around. 
And  all  the  Muse's  tales  seem  truly  told. 
Till  the  sense  aches  with  gazing  to  behold 
The  scenes  our  earliest  dreams  have  dwelt  upon  : 
Each  hill  and  dale,  each  deepening  glen  and  wold. 
Defies  the  power  which  crushed  thy  temples  gone  : 
Age  shakes  Athena's  tower,  but  spares  gray  Marathon/ 

1  Tritonia  was  another  name  of  Pallas  :Minerva.  the  goddess  of  wisdom. 

2  Cape  Colonna,  in  the  south  of  Attica,  where  there  was  a  temple  of  Pallas,  which  could 
be  seen  from  a  great  distance  at  sea. 

8  a  mountain  of  Attica,  celebrated  for  the  excellent  honey  found  there. 
*  Mendeli,  the  modern  name  of  Mount  Pentelicus.     (See  note  4,  page  84.) 
»  a  plain  on  the  east  coast  of  Attica,  twenty  miles  from  Athens,  famous  as  the  place 
where,  in  490  B.C.,  an  Athenian  army  of  10,000  men,  under  Miltiades,  defeated  a  Persian 
army  of  over  100,000  under  Datis  and  Artaphernes,  the  generals  of  Darius,  King  of  Persia. 


86  CHILDE   HAKOLD. 


XC. 


What  sacred  trophy  marks  the  hallow'd  ground, 
Recording  Freedom^s  smile  and  Asia's  tear  ? 
The  rifled  urn,  the  violated  mound,' 
The  dust  thy  courser's  hoof,  rude  stranger!  spurns  around. 

xci. 
Yet  to  the  remnants  of  thy  splendor  past 
Shall  pilgrims,  pensive,  but  unwearied,  throng: 
Long  shall  the  voyager,  with  th'  Ionian  blast. 
Hail  the  bright  clime  of  battle  and  of  song ; 
Long  shall  thine  annals  and  immortal  tongue 
Fill  with  thy  fame  the  youth  of  many  a  shore  : 
Boast  of  the  aged  !  lesson  of  the  young  ! 
AVhich  sages  venerate  and  bards  adore. 
As  Pallas  and  the  Muse  unveil  their  awful  lore. 

XCII. 

The  parted  bosom  clings  to  wonted  home, 
If  aught  that's  kindred  cheer  the  welcome  hearth  ; 
He  that  is  lonely,  hither^  let  him  roam. 
And  gaze  complacent  on  congenial  earth. 
Greece  is  no  lightsome  land  of  social  mirth  ; 
But  he  whom  Sadness  sootheth  may  abide. 
And  scarce  regret  the  region  of  his  birth. 
When  wandering  slow  by  Delphi's  sacred  side. 
Or  gazing  o'er  the  plains  where  Greek  and  Persian  died. 

xciir. 

Let  such  approach  this  consecrated  land. 
And  pass  in  peace  along  the  magic  waste  ; 
But  sj)are  its  relics — let  no  busy  hand 
Deface  the  scenes,  already  how  defaced  ! 
Not  for  such  purpose  were  these  altars  placed. 

'  on  the  field  of  Marathon,  covering  the  graves  of  the  Greeks  who  fell  in  the  battle. 
2  to  Greece. 


CHILDE    HAROLD. 


87 


Eevere  the  remnants  nations  once  revered  ; 
So  may  our  country's  name  '  be  undisgraced, 
So  mayst  thou  prosper  where  thy  youth  was  rear'd, 
By  every  honest  joy  of  love  and  life  endear'd  ! 


CANTO  THE  THIRD. 

I. 

Is  thy  face  like  thy  mother's,  my  fair  child  ! 
Ada  I  sole  daughter  of  my  house  and  heart  P"" 
AVhen  last  I  saw  thy  young  blue  eyes  they  smiled. 
And  then  we  parted,— not  as  now  we  part, 

But  with  a  hope. — 

Awaking  wnth  a  start, 

The  waters  heave  around  me  ;  and  on  high 

The  winds  lift  up  their  voices  :  I  depart, 

Whither  I  know  not  ;  but  the  hour's  gone  by, 

When   Albion's   lessening  shores   could    grieve    or  glad 

mine  eyes. 

II. 

Once  more  upon  the  waters  !  yet  once  more  ! 
And  the  waves  bound  beneath  me  as  a  steed 
That  knows  his  rider.     Welcome  to  their  roar  1 
Swift  be  their  guidance,  wheresoe'er  it  lead  I 
Though  the  strain'd  mast  should  quiver  as  a  reed. 
And  the  rent  canvas  fluttering  strew  the  gale, 
Still  must  I  on  ;  for  I  am  as  a  weed. 
Flung  from  the  rock,  on  Ocean's  foam,  to  sail 
Where'er  the   surge    may    sweep,  the   tempest's   breath 
prevail. 

1  England's.  '  Byron'3  own  danghter  and  only  child,  Ada. 


88  CHILDE   HAROLD. 

TV. 
Since  my  young  days  of  passion — joy,  or  pain, 
Perchance  my  lieart  and  liarp  have  lost  a  string. 
And  both  may  jar  :  it  may  be,  that  in  vain 
I  would,  essay  as  I  have  sung  to  sing. 
Yet,  though  a  dreary  strain,  to  this  I  cling. 
So  that  it  Avean  me  from  tlie  weary  dream 
Of  selfish  grief  or  ghidness — so  it  fling 
Forgetfulness  around  me — it  shall  seem 
To  me,  though  to  none  else,  a  not  ungrateful  theme. 


VIII. 


Long-absent  Harold  reappears  at  last ; 
He  of  the  breast  which  fain  no  more  would  feel. 
Wrung  with  the  wounds  which  kill  not,  but  ne'er  heal ; 
Yet  Time,  who  changes  all,  had  alter'd  him 
In  soul  and  aspect  as  in  age  :  years  steal 
Fire  from  the  mind  as  vigor  from  the  limb  ; 
And  life's  enchanted  cup  but  sparkles  near  the  brim. 

X. 

Secure  in  guarded  coldness,  he  had  mix'd 
Again  in  fancied  safety  with  his  kind. 
And  deemed  his  spirit  now  so  firmly  fix'd 
And  sheathed  with  an  invulnerable  mind. 
That,  if  no  joy,  no  sorrow  lurk'd  behind  ; 
And  he,  as  one,  might  'midst  the  many  stand 
Unheeded,  searching  through  the  crowd  to  find 
Fit  speculation  ;  such  as  in  strange  land 
He  found  in  wonder-works  of  God  and  Nature's  hand. 

XIII. 

Where  rose  the  mountains,  there  to  him  were  friends  ; 
Where  roU'd  the  ocean,  thereon  was  his  home  ; 


CHILDE    HAROLD.  89 

Where  a  blue  sky.  and  glowing  clime,  extends. 
He  had  the  passion  and  the  power  to  roam  ; 
The  desert,  forest,  cavern,  breakers  foam, 
AVere  unto  him  companionship  ;  they  spake 
A  mutual  language,  clearer  than  the  tome 
Of  his  land's  tongue/  which  he  would  oft  forsake 
For  nature's  pages  glass'd  by  sunbeams  on  the  lake. 


XYI. 


Self-exiled  Harold  wanders  forth  again, 
With  naught  of  hope  left,  but  with  less  of  gloom. 
The  very  knowledge  that  he  lived  in  vain. 
That  all  was  over  on  this  side  the  tomb. 
Had  made  Despair  a  smilingness  assume, 
Which,  though  'twere  wild, — as  on  the  plunder'd  wreck 
When  mariners  would  madly  meet  their  doom 
With  draughts  intemperate  on  the  sinking  deck — 
Did  yet  inspire  a  cheer,  which  he  forbore  to  check. 


XYII. 

Stop  I — for  thy  tread  is  on  an  Empire's  dust  ! ' 
An  Earthquake's  spoil  is  sepulchred  below  I 
Is  the  spot  mark'd  with  no  colossal  bust  ? 
Nor  column  trophied  for  triumphal  show  ? 
None  ;  but  the  moral's  truth  tells  simpler  so, 
As  the  ground  was  before,  thus  let  it  be  ; — 
How  that  red  rain '  hath  made  the  harvest  grow  I 
And  is  this  all  the  world  has  gain'd  by  thee. 
Thou  first  and  last  of  fields  I  king-making  Victory  ? 

1  the  English  language. 

2  the  field  of  Waterloo  in  Belgium,  where,  on  June  18.  1815,  was  fought  the  great  battle 
in  which  the  French,  under  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  were  defeated  by  the  British  and  Prus- 
sians under  Wellineton  and  Bliicher.  By  this  defeat  Napoleon  lost  the  French  Empire  be 
had  established,  and  soon  afterwards  he  was  sent  a  prisoner  to  the  island  of  St.  Helena, 
where  he  died  in  18"21. 

3  of  blood  shed  in  the  battle. 


90         *  CHILDE    HAROLD. 

XVIII. 

And  Harold  stands  upon  this  placo  of  skulls. 
The  irrave  of  P'rance,  the  deadly  Waterloo  ! 
IIow  in  an  hour  the  power  which  gave  annuls 
Its  gifts,  transferring  fame  as  fleeting  too  ! 
In  *' pride  of  2:)lace'' '  here  last  the  eagle'  flew, 
Then  tore  with  bloody  talon  the  rent  plain. 
Pierced  by  the  shaft  of  banded  nations  through  ; 
Ambition's  life  and  labors  all  were  vain  ; 
He  wears  the  shattered  links  of  the  world's  broken  chain.' 

XXI. 

There  was  a  sound  of  revelry  bv  night,* 
And  Belgium^s  capital  had  gather'd  then 
Her  Beanty  and  her  Chivalry,^  and  bright 
The  lamps  shone  ©""er  fair  women  and  brave  men  ; 
A  thousand  hearts  beat  happily  ;  and  when 
Music  arose  with  its  voluptuous  swell, 
Soft  eyes  look'd  love  to  eyes  which  spake  again. 
And  all  went  merry  as  a  marriage-bell  : 
But  hush  !  hark  !  a  deej)  sound  strikes  like  a  rising  knell  ! 

XXII. 

Did  3^e  not  hear  it  ?     No  ;  'twas  but  the  wind 

Or  the  car  rattling  o'er  the  stony  street  ; 

On  with  the  dance  !  let  joy  be  unconflned  ; 

No  sleep  till  morn,  when  Youth  and  Pleasure  meet 

To  chase  the  glowing  Hours  with  flying  feet — 

'  III  tlio  old-time  t*i)ort  of  falconn^— hunting  wild  fowl  by  means  of  hawks— the  phrase, 
"  pride  of  place  "  meant  the  highest  pitch  or  point  of  flight. 

2  Napoleon. 

3  the  chain  with  which  Napoleon  by  his  numerous  conquests  had  bound  nearly  the 
whole  of  Europe,  was  broken  by  his  defeat  at  Waterloo,  and  he  himself  wore  the  "  shat- 
tered links  "  in  his  imprisonment  at  St.  Helena. 

*  On  the  night  before  the  battle  of  Waterloo,  Wellington,  the  British  general,  and  his 
officers  were  present  at  a  ball  in  Brussels,  the  capital  of  Belgium.  The  battle-field  is 
within  twelve  miles  of  that  city. 

^gallant  men  and  fair  ladies. 


CHILDE    HAROLD.  91 

But  hark  I — that  heavy  sound  breaks  in  once  more, 
As  if  the  clouds  its  echo  would  repeat ; 
And  nearer,  clearer,  deadlier  than  before  I 
Arm  !  arm  I  it  is — it  is — the  cannon's  opening  roar  I 

XXIIl. 

Within  a  windowed  niche  of  that  high  hall ' 
Sate  Brunswick's  fated  chieftain  ;  ^  he  did  hear 
That  sound  the  first  amidst  the  festival, 
And  caught  its  tone  with  Death's  prophetic  ear ; 
And  when  they  smiled  because  he  deemed  it  near. 
His  heart  more  truly  knew  that  peal  too  well 
AVhich  stretched  his  father  on  a  bloody  bier/ 
And  roused  the  vengeance  blood  alone  could  quell  : 
He  rushed  into  the  field,  and,  foremost  fighting,  fell. 

XXIV. 

Ah  I  then  and  there  was  hurrying  to  and  fro. 
And  gathering  tears,  and  tremblings  of  distress, 
And  cheeks  all  pale,  which  but  an  hour  ago 
Blushed  at  the  praise  of  their  own  loveliness  ; 
And  there  were  sudden  partings,  such  as  press 
The  life  from  out  young  hearts,  and  choking  sighs     • 
AVhich  ne'er  might  be  repeated  :  who  would  guess 
If  ever  more  should  meet  those  mutual  eyes, 
Since  upon  night  so  sweet  such  awful  morn  could  rise  ! 

XXV. 

And  there  was  mounting  in  hot  haste  :  the  steed. 
The  mustering  squadron,  and  the  clattering  car, 
Went  pouring  forward  with  impetuous  speed, 

'  *n  which  the  ball  was  given. 

2  the  Duke  of  Brunswick. 

''  the  Duke  of  Brunswick's  father  was  fatally  wounded  at  tlie  battle  of  Jena  (Germany), 
October  14,  1806,  in  which  the  Prussians  under  the  Prince  of  Hohenlohe  were  defeated  by 
the  French  under  Napoleon. 


92  CIllLDE    HAROLD. 

And  swiftly  forming  in  tlie  ranks  of  war  ; 
And  the  deep  tlumder  2)eal  on  peal  afar  ; 
And  near,  the  beat  of  tlie  alarming  drum 
Housed  up  the  soldier  ere  the  morning  star  ; 
"While  thronged  tlie  citizens  witli  terror  dumb, 
Or  whispering,  with  white  lips — ''The  foe  !   they  coir.e  ! 
they  come  !  '^ 

XXVI. 

And  wild  and  high  the  ''  Cameron's  gathering''  *  rose, 
The  war-note  of  Lochiel,"  which  Albyn's  ^  hills 
Iltive  heard,  and  heard,  too,  have  her  Saxon  foes  :  * 
How  in  the  noon  of  night  that  pibroch'^  thrills 
Savage  and  shrill  !     But  with  the  breath  which  fills 
Their  mountain-pipe,  so  fill  the  mountaineers 
With  the  fierce  native  darins;  which  instills 
The  stirring  memory  of  a  thousand  years. 
And  Evan's,  Donald's  ^  fame  rings  in  each  clansman^'s  ^ 
ears. 

*■  XXVII. 

And  Ardennes  **  Avaves  above  them  her  green  leaves. 
Dewy  with  ISi^ature's  tear-drops,  as  they  pass. 
Grieving,  if  aught  inanimate  e'er  grieves. 
Over  the  unreturning  brave, — alas  I 
Ere  evening  to  be  trodden  like  the  grass 

1  one  of  tlie  tunes  of  the  Cameron  Highlanders,  the  name  given  to  the  79th  regiment  of 
infantrj'  in  the  British  army,  so  called  from  the  name  of  the  officer  who  raised  the  corps. 

2  The  Camerons  of  Lochiel  (Scotland)  were  famed  in  Scottish  history  for  their  valor  and 
achievements  in  war. 

3  Albj'n,  ancient  name  of  the  Scottish  Highlands  (north  part  of  Scotland). 

*  in  the  wars  of  former  times  between  the  Scotch  and  the  English  (Saxons). 

5  a  sort  of  wild  music  performed  on  the  Scottish  bagpipe. 

8  Sir  Evan  Cameron  and  his  descendant  Donald  were  distinguished  chiefs  of  the  Cam- 
erons of  Lochiel. 

'  The  clans  of  the  Scottish  Highlands  in  fcjriuer  times  were  tribes  or  Families  of  the 
same  name  united  under  a  chieftain,  by  whom  they  were  led  in  war.  Each  clan  was 
designated  by  the  common  name,  :is  the  clan  Cameron,  the  clan  Stuart. 

8  a  range  of  hills,  many  of  them  covered  with  forests  of  oak  and  beech,  extending 
through  parts  of  Belgium  and  northeast  France. 


CHILDE    HAROLD. 


93 


AVliich  now  beneath  them,  but  above  shall  grow 
In  its  next  verduve,  when  this  fiery  mass 
Of  living  valor,  rolling  on  the  foe. 
And  burning  with  high  hope,  shall  molder  cold  and  low. 

XXVIII. 

Last  noon  beheld  them  full  of  lusty  life. 
Last  eve  in  Beauty's  circle  proudly  gay, 
The  midnight  brought  the  signal-sound  of  strife, 
The  morn  the  marslialing  in  arms,— the  day 
Battle's  magnificently  stern  array  1 
Tlie  thunder-clouds  close  o'er  it,  which  when  rent 
The  earth  is  covered  thick  with  other  clay, 
Which  her  own  clay  shall  cover,  heaped  and  pent, 
Eider  and  horse,— friend,  foe,— in  one  red  burial  blent!^' 

XX  XVI. 

There  sunk  the  greatest,  nor  the  worst  of  men,'' 
AYhose  spirit  antithetically '  mixt. 
One  moment  of  the  mightiest,  and  again 
On  little  objects  with  like  firmness  fixt  ; 
Extreme  in  all  things  !  hadst  thou'  been  betwixt. 
Thy  throne  had  still  been  thine,  or  never  been  ; 
For  daring  made  thy  rise  as  fall  :  thou  seek'st 
Even  now  to  reassume  the  imperial  mien. 
And  shake  again  the  world,  the  Thunderer  of  the  scene! 

XXXVII. 

Conqueror  and  captive  of  the  earth  art  thou  1* 
She  trembles  at  thee  still,  and  thy  wild  name 

1  Tho  fore.Toir,cr  stanzas,  describing  the  eve  and  morning  of  Waterloo,  are  much  admired 
bv  readers  of  Bvron.     One  of  the  ablest  of  British  critics  has  observed  that  "  there  cnn 
be  no  more  remarkable  proof  of  the  greatness  of  Lord  BjTon's  genius  than  the  sp 
and  interest  he  has  contrived  to  communicate  to  his  picture  of  the  oft-drawn  and  diftcult 
scene  of  the  breaking  up  from  Brussels  before  the  great  battle." 

2  Napoleon.  '  in  contrast  or  opposition. 
4  :<..jo\eon  is  still  referred  to  in  this  and  the  following  stanza. 


94  CHILDE    JIAi;(>Ll). 

"Was  ne'er  more  bruited  in  men's  minds  than  now 
Tliat  tlioii  art  nothing,  save  the  jest  of  Fame, 
AVlio  vv'ooed  thee  once,  tliy  vassal,  and  became 
Tlie  flatterer  of  thy  fierceness,  till  thou  wert 
A  god  unto  th3'self  ;  nor  loss  the  same 
To  the  astounded  kingdoms  all  inert, 
"Who  doomed  tlioo  for  a  time  ^vhato'or  thou  didst  assert. 

XXXVIII. 

Oh,  more  or  loss  than  man — in  hig4i  or  low. 
Battling  witli  nations,  flying  from  the  field  ; 
Now  making  monarchs^  necks  thy  footstool,  now 
More  than  thy  meanest  soldier  taught  to  yield  : 
An  empire  thou  couldst  crush,  command,  rebuild. 
But  govern  not  thy  pettiest  passion,  nor. 
However  deeply  in  men's  spirits  skilled. 
Look  through  thine  own,  nor  curb  the  lust  of  war, 
Nor  learn  that  tempted  Fate  will  leave  the  loftiest  star. 

XLV. 

He  who  ascends  to  mountain-tops,  shall  find 
The  loftiest  peaks  most  wrapt  in  clouds  and  snow  ; 
He  who  surpasses  or  subdues  mankind. 
Must  look  doAvn  on  the  hate  of  those  below. 
Though  high  above  the  sun  of  glory  glow. 
And  far  beneath  the  earth  and  ocean  spread. 
Round  him  are  icy  rocks,  and  loudly  blow 
Contending  tempests  on  his  naked  head. 
And  thus  reward  the  toils  which  to  those  summits  led. 

XLVI. 

Away  with  these  ;  true  Wisdom's  world  will  be 
"Within  its  own  creation,  or  in  thine. 
Maternal  Nature  !  for  who  teems  like  thee. 
Thus  on  the  banks  of  thy  majestic  Rhine  ?  * 

*  the  great  river  of  Germany. 


CHILDE    HAROLD.  95 

There  Harold  gazes  on  a  work  divine, 
A  blending  of  all  beauties  ;  streams  and  dells, 
Fruit,  foliage,  crag,  wood,  corn-field,  mountain,  vine. 
And  chiefless  castles  '  breathing  stern  farewells 
From  gray  but  leafy  walls,  where  Ruin  greenly  dwells. 

LI. 

A  thousand  battles  ^  have  assailed  thy  banks. 
But  these  and  half  their  fame  have  passed  away. 
And  Slaughter  heaped  on  high  its  weltering  ranks  : 
Their  very  graves  are  gone,  and  what  are  they  ? 
Thy  tide  washed  down  the  blood  of  yesterday. 
And  all  was  stainless,  and  on  thy  clear  stream 
Glassed  w^ith  its  dancing  light  the  sunny  ray  ; 
But  O'er  the  blackened  memory's  blighting  dream 
Thy  waves  would  vainly  roll,  all  sweeping  as  tliey  seem. 

LII. 

Thus  Harold  inly  said,  and  passed  along. 
Yet  not  insensibly  to  all  which  here 
Awoke  the  jocund  birds  to  early  song 
In  glens  which  might  have  made  even  exile  dear  : 
Though  on  his  brow  were  graven  lines  austere. 
And  tranquil  sternness  which  had  ta'en  the  place 
Of  feelings  fierier  far  but  less  severe, 
Joy  was  not  always  absent  from  his  face. 
But  o^er  it  in  such  scenes  would  steal  with  transient 
trace. 

LIII. 

Nor  was  all  love  shut  from  him,  though  his  da3^s 
Of  passion  had  consumed  themselves  to  dust. 
It  is  in  vain  that  we  would  coldly  gaze 
On  such  as  smile  upon  us  ;  the  heart  must 

1  The  number  of  castles  and  cities  along  the  coarse  of  the  Rhine  on  both  sides  is  very 
great,  and  their  situations  are  remarkably  beautiful.    Many  of  the  castles  are  in  ruins. 

2  many  great  battles  have  been  fought  ou  or  near  the  banks  of  the  Rhine. 


96  CHILDK    HAROLD. 

Leap  kindl}'  l)ack  to  kindness,  thougli  disgust 
Hatli  weaned  it  from  jdl  worldlings  ;  thus  he  felt, 
For  there  was  soft  remembrance,  and  sweet  trust 
In  one  fond  breast,  to  which  his  own  would  melt, 
And  in  its  tenderer  hour  on  that  his  bosom  dwelt. 


LV. 

That  love  Avas  pure,  and,  far  above  disguise. 
Had  stood  the  test  of  mortal  enmities 
Still  undivided,  and  cemented  more 
By  peril,  dreaded  most  in  female  eyes  ; 
But  this  was  firm,  and  from  a  foreign  shore 
Well  to  tliat  heart  might  his  these  absent  greetings  pour  I 

The  castled  crasf  of  Drachenfels  * 
Frowns  o'er  tiie  wide  and  winding  Rhine, 
AVhose  breast  of  waters  broadly  swells 
Between  the  banks  which  bear  the  vine, 
And  hills  all  rich  with  blossomed  trees, 
And  fields  which  promise  corn  and  wine. 
And  scattered  cities  crowning  these. 
Whose  far  white  walls  along  them  shine, 
Have  strewM  a  scene,  which  I  should  see 
With  double  joy  wert  thou  Avitli  me  ! 

And  peasant  girls,  with  dee]:)  blue  eyes. 
And  hands  which  offer  early  flowers. 
Walk  smiling  o'er  tliis  paradise  ; 
Above,  the  frequent  feudal  towers  ^ 

'  The  castle  of  Drachenfels  stands  on  the  highest  summit  of  the  "  Sevan  Mountains  " 
over  the  Rhine  banks.     It  is  in  ruins,  and  some  strange  stories  are  connected  with  it. 

2  the  towers  or  castles  of  the  great  land-holders  under  the  feudal  sj^stem  of  former 
times.  In  those  times  the  tenant  or  occupier  of  the  land  was  bound  to  serve  his  superior 
lord — a  duke  or  a  king— in  his  wars,  hence  the  word  feudal,  from  feud,  which  means  a 
quarrel. 


CHILDE   HAROLD.  07 

Through  green  leaves  lift  their  walls  of  gray, 
And  many  a  rock  which  deeply  lowers. 
And  noble  arch  in  proud  decay, 
Look  o'er  this  vale  of  vintage-bowers  : 
But  one  thing  want  these  banks  of  Rhine, — 
Thy  gentle  hand  to  clasp  in  mine  ! 

I  send  the  lilies  given  to  me ; 
Though  long  before  thy  hand  they  touch, 
I  know  that  they  must  withered  be. 
But  yet  reject  them  not  as  such  ; 
For  I  have  cherishM  them  as  dear. 
Because  they  yet  may  meet  thine  eye. 
And  guide  thy  soul  to  mine  even  here, 
When  thou  behold'st  them  drooping  nigh. 
And  know'st  them  gathered  by  the  Rhine, 
And  offered  from  my  heart  to  thine  ! 

The  river  noblv  foams  and  flows, 

The  charm  of  this  enchanted  ground. 

And  all  its  thousand  turns  disclose 

Some  fresher  beauty  varying  round  ; 

The  hauofhtiest  breast  its  wish  misfht  bound 

Through  life  to  dwell  delighted  here; 

Kor  could  on  earth  a  spot  be  found 

To  Xature  and  to  me  so  dear. 

Could  thy  dear  eyes  in  following  mine 

Still  sweeten  more  these  banks  of  Rhine ! 

LYI. 

By  Coblentz,'  on  a  rise  of  gentle  ground, 
There  is  a  small  and  simple  pyramid, 
Crowning  the  summit  of  the  verdant  mound ; 
Beneath  its  base  are  heroes^  ashes  hid, 

'  a  town  of  Rhenish  Prussia,  un  the  left  bank  of  the  Rhine. 

7 


98  CHILDE    HAROLD. 

Our  enemy's,' — but  let  not  that  forbid 
Honor  to  Marceau  ! '  o^er  whose  early  tomb 
Tears,  big  tears,  gushed  from  the  rough  soldier's  lid, 
Lamenting  and  yet  envying  such  a  doom, 
Falling  for  France,  whose  rights  he  battled  to  resume. 

LVII. 

Brief,  brave,  and  glorious  was  his  young  career, — 
His  mourners  were  two  hosts,  his  friends  and  foes; 
And  fitly  may  the  stranger  lingering  here 
Pray  for  his  gallant  spirit's  bright  repose  ; 
For  he  was  Freedom's  champion,  one  of  those. 
The  few  in  number,  Avho  had  not  o'erstept 
The  charter  to  chastise  which  she  ^  bestows 
On  such  as  wield  her  weapons  ;  he  had  kept 
The  whiteness  of  his  soul,  and  thus  men  o'er  him  wept. 

LVIII. 

Here  Ehrenbreitstein,*  with  her  shattered  wall 
Black  with  the  miner's  blast,  upon  her  height 
Yet  shows  of  what  she  w^as,  when  shell  and  ball 
Rebounding  idly  on  her  strength  did  light ; 
A  tower  of  victory  !  from  whence  the  flight 
Of  baffled  foes  was  watched  along  the  plain  ; 
But  Peace  destroyed  what  War  could  never  blight,* 
And  laid  those  proud  roofs  bare  to  Summer's  rain — 
On  which  the  iron  shower  for  years  had  poured  in  vain. 

'  England's. 

2  a  young  French  general  killed  at  the  battle  of  Altenkirchen  (Prussia),  September  16, 
1796. 

3  Freedom. 

*  a  town  and  fortress  of  Rhenish  Prussia,  on  the  right  bank  of  the  Rhine,  opposite 
Coblentz.  The  fortress,  built  on  the  summit  of  a  precipitous  rock  490  feet  high,  is 
one  of  the  strongest  in  Europe. 

*the  French  took  Ehreubreitstein  in  1799,  after  a  siege  of  fourteen  months.  Peace 
being  made  in  1801,  they  left  the  fort,  but  before  their  departure  they  blew  up  the  works. 


CHILDE    HAROLD.  99 

LIX. 

Adieu  to  thee,  fair  Rhine  I     How  long  delighted, 
The  stranger  fain  would  linger  on  his  way  I 
Thine  is  a  scene  alike  where  souls  united 
Or  lonely  Contemplation  thus  might  stray  ; 
And  could  the  ceaseless  vultures  '  cease  to  prey 
On  self-condemning  bosoms,  it  were  here, 
Where  Nature,  nor  too  somber  nor  too  gay, 
Wild  but  not  rude,  awful  yet  not  austere. 
Is  to  the  mellow  Earth  as  Autumn  to  the  vear. 


LXII. 

But  these  '^  recede.     Above  me  are  the  Alps,^ 
The  palaces  of  Nature,  whose  vast  walls 
Have  pinnacled  in  clouds  their  snowy  scalps. 
And  throned  Eternity  in  icy  halls* 
Of  cold  sublimity,  where  forms  and  falls 
The  avalanche — the  thunder-bolt  of  snow  ! 
All  that  expands  the  spirit,  yet  appalls. 
Gather  around  these  summits,  as  to  show 
How  Earth   may  pierce   to   Heaven,  yet   leave  vain   man 
below. 

LXIII. 

But  ere  these  matchless  heights  I  dare  to  scan. 
There  is  a  spot  should  not  be  passed  in  vain, — 
Morat  I  '"  the  proud,  the  patriot  field  I  where  man 
May  gaze  on  ghastly  trophies  of  the  slain, 

1  birds  which  feed  on  dead  bodies.  The  word  is  here  ueed  figuratively  for  thoughts 
which  torment  the  mind. 

2  the  beauties  of  the  Rhine. 

3  the  highest  mountain  range  of  Europe— between  Switzerland  and  Italy,  and  extending 
into  the  adjacent  countries. 

*  referring  to  the  perpetual  snow  and  the  glaciers  on  the  top  of  the  Alps. 

*  a  town  of  Switzerland,  where,  in  a  great  battle  on  June  22,  1476,  the  Swiss  defeated 
Charles  the  Bold,  Dulce  of  Burgundy  (France),  who  had  come  with  a  great  army  to  con- 
quer their  country. 


IDO  CHILDE   HAROLD. 

\()r  bliisli  for  those  wlio  conquered  on  tluit  plain  ; 
Here  Biirgiuuly  bequeathed  his  tombless  host, 
A  bony  lieap/  through  ages  to  remain, 
Tlieniselves  their  monument; — tlie  Stygian  coast "^ 
Unsepulchred  tliey  roamed,  and  shrieked  each  wander- 
ing ghost. 

LXIV. 

While  Waterloo  with  Cannae^s  carnage  ^  vies, 
Morat  and  Marathon  twin  names  shall  stand  ; 
They  were  true  Glory^s  stainless  victories, 
Won  by  the  unambitious  heart  and  hand 
Of  a  proud,  brotherly,  and  civic  band. 
All  unbought  champions  in  no  princely  cause 
Or  vice-entailed  Corruption  ;  they  no  land 
Doomed  to  bewail  the  blasphemy  of  laws 
Making  kings'  rights  divine,  by  some  Draconic  *  clause. 


LXVIII. 

Lake  Leman  ^  woos  me  with  its  crystal  face. 
The  mirror  where  the  stars  and  mountains  view 
The  stillness  of  their  aspect  in  each  trace 
Its  clear  depth  yields  of  their  far  height  and  hue  : 
There  is  too  much  of  man  here,  to  look  through 
With  a  fit  mind  the  might  which  I  behold  ; 
But  soon  in  me  shall  Loneliness  renew 

'  the  bones  of  the  French  killed  at  the  battle  of  Morat  remained  for  ages  after,  heaped 
in  a  pyramid  on  the  field. 

2  the  regions  beyond  the  Styx,  a  fabled  river  over  which  the  ancients  believed  the  spirits 
or  shades  of  men  passed  after  death.  The  spirits  of  nnburied  bodies  were  obliged  to 
wander  on  the  bank  of  the  river— the  Stygian  coast— for  a  Imndred  years  bef(i:e  being 
carried  over. 

3  referring  to  the  battle  of  Cannu'.  (a  town  of  Italy),  210  B.C.,  in  which  the  famous  Car- 
thaginian general,  Hannibal,  defeated  the  Romans. 

*  extremely  severe,  like  the  laws  of  Draco  (an   ancient  Authenian  lawmaker),  which 
made  death  the  punishment  of  every  crime,  great  or  small. 
6  in  Switzerland— also  called  Lake  Geneva. 


CHILDE   HAROLD. 


101 


Thouglits  hid,  but  not  less  cherislied  than  of  old, 
Ere  mingling  with  the  herd '   had  penned  me  in  their 
fofd. 

LXXI. 

Is  it  not  better,  then,  to  be  alone. 
And  love  Eartli  only  for  it&^arthly  sake  ? 
By  the  blue  rushing  of  the  arrowy  Rhone,^ 
Or  the  pure  bosom  of  its  nursing  lake. 
Which  feeds  it  as  a  mother  who  doth  make 
A  fair  but  froward  infant  her  own  car^ 
Kissing  its  cries  away  as  these  awake  ; — 
Is  it  not  better  thus  our  lives  to  wear, 
Than  join  the  crushing  crowd,  doomed  to  inflict  or  bear  ? 

LXXV. 

Are  not  the  mountains,  waves,  and  skies  a  part 
Of  me  and  of  my  soul,  as  I  of  them  ? 
Is  not  the  love  of  these  deep  in  my  heart 
With  a  pure  passion  ?  should  I  not  contemn 
All  objects,  if  compared  with  these  ?  and  stem 
A  tide  of  suffering,  rather  than  forego 
Such  feelings  for  the  hard  and  worldly  phlegm 
Of  those  whose  eyes  are  only  turned  below. 
Gazing  upon  the  ground,  with  thoughts  which  dare  not 
glow  ? 

LXXYI. 

But  this  is  not  my  theme  ;  and  I  return 
To  that  which  is  immediate,  and  require 
Those  who  find  contemplation  in  the  urn. 
To  look  on  One '  whose  dust  was  once  all  fire, 

1  society 

2  a  areat'river  of  Switzerland  and  France  ;  it  flows  through  the  Lake  of  Geneva. 

3  Rousseau  (pron.,  Roo-so\  a  celebrated  French  writer  and  philosopher,  born  ni  (ieneva, 
1712. 


Uri  CHILDE    HAKULD. 

A  native  of  the  land  whei-e  I  res2)ire 
The  clear  air  for  a  while — a  passing  guest, 
Where  he  became  a  being — whose  desire 
Was  to  be  glorious  ;  ^twas  a  foolish  quest, 
The  which  to  gain  and  keep  he  sacrificed  all  rest. 

LXXVII. 

Here  the  self-torturing  sophist/  wild  Rousseau, 
The  apostle  of  affliction,  he  who  threw 
Enchantment  over  passion^  and  from  woe 
Wrung  overwhelming  eloquence,  first  drew 
The  breath  which  made  him  wretched  ;  yet  he  knew 
How  to  make  madness  beautiful,  and  cast 
O^er  erring  deeds  and  thoughts  a  heavenly  hue" 
Of  words,  like  sunbeams,  dazzling  as  they  past 
The  eyes,  which  o'er  them  shed  tears  feelingly  and  fast. 

LXXXV. 

Clear,  placid  Leman  !  thy  contrasted  lake. 
With  the  wild  world  I  dwelt  in,  is  a  thing 
Which  warns  me,  with  its  stillness,  to  forsake 
Earth's  troubled  waters  for  a  purer  spring. 
This  quiet  sail  is  as  a  noiseless  wing 
To  waft  me  from  distraction  ;  once  I  loved 
Torn  ocean's  roar,  but  thy  soft  murmuring 
Sounds  sweet  as  if  a  sister's  voice  reproved. 
That    I   with   stern    delights   should  e'er  have  been  so 
moved. 

LXXXYI. 

It  is  the  hush  of  night,  and  all  between 
Thy  margin  and.  the  mountains,  dusk,  yet  clear. 
Mellow'd  and  mingling,  yet  distinctly  seen. 
Save  darkened  Jura,^  whose  capt  heights  appear 

•  The  sophists  in  ancient  Greece  were  teachers  of  eloquence,  philosophy,  and  politics. 
'a  range  of  mountaine  extending  through  parts  of  Switzerland,  France,  and  Germany. 


Q 


CHILDE  HAROLD.  10 

Precipitously  steep  :  and  drawing  near, 
There  breathes  a  living  fragrance  from  the  shore, 
Of  flowers  yet  fresh  with  childhood  ;  on  the  ear 
Drops  the  light  drip  of  the  suspended  oar, 
Or  chirps  the  grasshopper  one  good-night  carol  more  ; 

LXXXTII. 

He  is  an  evening  reveler,  who  makes 
His  life  an  infancy,  and  sings  his  fill  : 
At  intervals,  some  bird  from  out  the  brakes 
Starts  into  voice  a  moment,  then  is  still. 
There  seems  a  floating  whisper  on  the  hill. 
But  that  is  fancy,  for  the  starlight  dews 
All  silently  their  tears  of  love  instill, 
Weeping  themselves  away,  till  they  infuse 
Deep  into  Nature's  breast  the  spirit  of  her  hues.' 

LXXXVIII.  . 

Ye  stars  I  which  are  the  poetry  of  heaven, 
If  in  your  briglit  leaves  we  would  read  the  fate 
Of  men  and  empires — 'tis  to  be  forgiven, 
That  in  our  aspirations  to  be  great, 
Our  destinies  o'erleap  their  mortal  state. 
And  claim  a  kindred  with  you  ;  for  ye  are 
A  beauty  and  a  mystery,  and  create 
In  us  such  love  and  reverence  from  afar, 
That  fortune,  fame,  power,  life,  have  named  themselves 
a  star. 

LXXXIX. 

All  heaven  and  earth  are  still— though  not  in  sleep, 
But  breathless,  as  we  grow  when  feeling  most  ; 
And  silent,  as  we  stand  in  thoughts  too  deep  : 
All  heaven  and  earth  are  still  :  From  the  high  host 

1  Durincr  his  star  iu  Switzerland  Byron  resided  in  the  village  of  Coliguy,  within  view  of 
Geneva.  Every  evening  he  had  a  sail  on  the  lake,  and  to  the  feelings  thus  created  we 
owe  these  delightful  stanzas. 


104  CniLDE    HAROLD. 

Of  stars,  to  the  lulled  lake  and  mountain-coast. 
All  is  concentred  in  a  life  intense, 
AVhere  not  a  beam,  nor  air,  nor  leaf  is  lost. 
But  hath  a  part  of  being,  and  a  sense 
Of  that  which  is  of  all  Creator  and  defence. 

•  ••••• 

XCII. 

The  sky  is  changed  I — and  such  a  change  I     Oh  night, 
And  storm,  and  darkness,  ye  are  wondrous  strong. 
Yet  lovely  in  your  strength,  as  is  the  light 
Of  a  dark  eye  in  woman  !     Far  along, 
From  joeak  to  peak,  the  rattling  crags  among, 
Leaps  the  live  thunder  ! '     Not  from  one  lone  cloud. 
But  every  mountain  now  hath  found  a  tongue  ; 
And  Jura  answers,  through  her  misty  shroud, 
Back  to  the  joyous  Alps,  who  call  to  her  aloud  ! 

XCIII. 

And  this  is  in  the  night  : — Most  glorious  night  ! 
Thou  wert  not  sent  for  slumber  !  let  me  be 
A  sharer  in  thy  fierce  and  far  delight — 
A  portion  of  the  temj^est  and  of  thee  ! 
How  the  lit  lake  shines,  a  phosphoric  sea,'* 
And  the  big  rain  comes  dancing  to  the  earth  ! 
And  noAV  again  ^tis  black, — and  now,  the  glee 
Of  the  loud  hills  shakes  with  its  mountain  mirth. 
As  if  they  did  rejoice  o^er  a  young  earthquake's  birth. 

•  •••••  X 

XCVIII. 

The  morn  is  up  again,  the  dewy  morn. 
With  breath  all  incense,  and  with  cheek  all  bloom, 
Laughing  the  clouds  away  with  playful  scorn, 
And  living  as  if  earth  contained  no  tomb, — 

>  referring  to  a  great  thunder-Btorm  which  occurred  on  the  night  of  Jnne  13,  1816. 
'  shining  like  phosphorus,  a  substance  that  gives  forth  a  luminous  vai)()r. 


CHILDE   HAROLD.  105 

And  glowing  into  day  :  we  may  resume 
The  march  of  our  existence  :  and  thus  I, 
Still  on  thy  shores,  fair  Leman  I  may  find  room 
And  food  for  meditation,  nor  pass  by 
Much,  that  may  give  us  pause,  if  pondered  fittingly. 

c. 

Clarens ! '  by  heavenly  feet  thy  paths  are  trod— 
Undying  Love\  who  here  ascends  a  throne 
To  which  the  steps  are  mountains ;  where  the  god  ' 
Is  a  pervading  life  and  light — so  shown 
Not  on  those  summits  solely,  nor  alone 
In  the  still  cave  and  forest  ;  o'er  the  flower 
His  eye  is  sparkling,  and  his  breath  hath  blown. 
His  soft  and  summer  breath,  whose  tender  power 
Passes  the  strens^th  of  storms  in  their  most  desolate  hour 


cv. 
Lausanne  !  and  Ferney  I '  ye  have  been  the  abodes 
Of  names '  which  unto  you  bequeathed  a  name  ; 
Mortals,  who  sought  and  found,  by  dangerous  roads, 
A  path  to  perpetuity  of  fame  : 
They  were  gigantic  minds,  and  their  steep  aim 
Was,  Titan-like,'  on  daring  doubts  to  pile 
Thoughts '  which  should  call  down  thunder,  and  the 
flame 

1  a  village  near  Lake  Geneva.  '  of  love. 

s  Lausanne  and  Ferney  are  towns  of  Switzerland. 

*  referring  to  Gibbon  and  Voltaire.  Gibbon  was  author  of  the  celebrated  book,  "  The 
Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire."'  He  resided  for  many  years  at  Lausanne,  and 
wrote  a  great  part  of  his  book  there.  Voltaire  was  a  famous  French  writer.  He  spent 
the  last  twenty  years  of  his  life  at  Ferney. 

»  The  Titans  were  powerful  giants,  or  gods,  of  ancient  Greek  fable.    They  made  war 
upon  Jupiter,  king  of  the  gods,  and  in  order  to  reach  his  palace,  on  the  top  of  Mount 
Olympus  (.Greece),  they  piled  mountain  upon  mountain,  from  which,  however,  they  were 
hurled  down  by  the  thunderbolts  of  Jui)iter. 
•referrincr  to  the  infidel  teaching  of  some  of  the  writings  of  Voltaire  and  Gibbon. 


10(3  CHILDE    HAROLD. 

or  Heaven,  again  assailed,  if  Heaven  the  while 
Oil  man  and  man's  research  could  deign  do  more  than 
smile. 

CYI. 

The  one  '  was  fire  and  fickleness,  a  child 
Most  mutable  in  wishes,  but  in  mind 
A  wit  as  various — gay,  grave,  sage,  or  wild, — 
Historian,  bard,  philosopher  combined  : 
He  multiplied  himself  among  mankind. 
The  Proteus'  of  their  talents  :  But  his  own 
Breathed  most  in  ridicule, — which,  as  the  wind. 
Blew  where  it  listed,  laying  all  things  prone, — 
Now  to  overthrow  a  fool,  and  now  to  shake  a  throne. 

CVII. 

The  other,'  deej)  and  slow,  exhausting  thought, 
And  hiving  wisdom  with  each  studious  year. 
In  meditation  dwelt,  with  learnins;  wrouofht. 
And  shaj^ed  his  weapon  with  an  edge  severe. 


cix. 

But  let  me  quit  man^s  works,  again  to  read 
His  Maker^s,  spread  around  me,  and  suspend 
This  page,  which  from  my  reveries  I  feed, 
Until  it  seems  prolonging  without  end. 
The  clouds  above  me  to  the  white  Alps  tend. 
And  I  must  pierce  them,  and  survey  whatever 
May  be  permitted,  as  my  steps  I  bend 
To  their  most  great  and  growing  region,  wliere 
The  earth  to  her  embrace  compels  the  powers  of  air. 

'  Voltaire. 

2  a  eea-god,  according  to  the  ancients,  who  had  power  to  change  himself  instautaneously 
into  different  forms. 
^Gibbon. 


CHILDE    HARULD.  107 

ex. 

Italia  ! '  too,  Italia  !  looking  on  thee 
Full  flashes  on  the  soul  the  light  of  ages, 
Since  the  fierce  Carthaginian  '  almost  won  thee. 
To  the  last  halo  of  the  chiefs  and  sages 
Who  glorify  thy  consecrated  pages  : 
Thou  wert  the  throne  and  grave  of  empires  ; '  still. 
The  fount  at  which  the  panting  mind  assuages 
Her  thirst  of  knowledge,  quaffing  there  her  fill, 
Flows  from  the  eternal  source  of  Rome's  imperial  hill. 

CXI. 

Thus  far  have  I  proceeded  in  a  theme 
Renewed  with  no  kind  auspices  : — to  feel 
We  are  not  what  we  have  been,  and  to  deem 
We  are  not  what  we  should  be, — and  to  steel 
The  heart  against  itself  :  and  to  conceal. 
With  a  proud  caution,  love  or  hate,  or  aught,— 
Passion  or  feeling,  purpose,  grief,  or  zeal.— 
Which  is  the  tyrant  spirit  of  our  thought, 
Is  a  stern  task  of  soul  :— Xo  matter,— it  is  taught. 

CXII. 

And  for  these  words,  thus  woven  into  song, 
It  may  be  that  they  are  a  harmless  wile, — 
The  coloring  of  the  scenes  which  fleet  along. 
Which  I  would  seize,  in  passing,  to  beguile 
Mv  breast,  or  that  of  others,  for  a  while. 
Fame  is  the  thirst  of  youth — but  I  am  not 
So  young  as  to  regard  men's  frown  or  smile 
As  loss  or  guerdon  of  a  glorious  lot  : 
I  stood  and  stand  alone— remembered  or  forgot. 

1  Italy. 

2  Hannibal,  the  famous  general  of  Carthage  (North  Africa^  who.  in  218  B.C.,  marching 
with  a  great  army  from  Spain,  crossed  the  Alps  into  Italy,  and  defeated  the  Romans  in 
several  battles. 

3  referring  to  the  many  conquests  and  vast  power  of  the  ancient  Romans. 


108  CHILDE   HAROLD.  I 

CXV. 

My  daiigliier  !  with  thy  name  this  song  begun — 
My  daughter!  witli  thy  name  thus  mucli  shall  end. 
I  see  thee  not,  I  hear  thee  not, — but  none 
Can  be  so  wrapt  in  thee  ;  thou  art  the  friend 
To  whom  the  shadows  of  far  years  extend  : 
Albeit  my  brow  thou  never  shouldst  behold. 
My  voice  shall  with  thy  future  visions  blend, 
And  reach  into  thy  heart, — when  mine  is  cold — ■ 
A  token  and  a  tone,  even  from  thy  father's  mold. 


CANTO   THE  FOURTH. 
I. 

I  STOOD  in  Venice,'  on  the  Bridge  of  Sighs  ;* 
A  palace  and  a  prison  on  each  hand  : 
I  saw  from  out  the  wave  her  structures  rise 
As  from  the  stroke  of  the  enchanter's  wand  ; 
A  thousand  years  their  cloudy  wings  expand 
Around  me,  and  a  dying  Glory  smiles 
O'er  the  far  times  when  many  a  subject  land 
Looked  to  the  winged  Lion's  ^  marble  piles, 
Where  Venice  sate  in  state,  throned  on  her  hundred  isles! 

II. 
She  looks  a  sea  Cybele,*  fresh  from  ocean. 
Rising  with  her  tiara  of  proud  towers 

>  a  beautiful  city  of  Italy,  built  on  a  cluster  of  small  islands  at  the  northwest  point  of 
the  Adriatic  Sea.  Most  of  the  streets  are  canals,  on  which  passengers  are  conveyed  in 
light  boats  called  gondolas. 

2  in  former  times,  when  Venice  was  a  great  and  powerful  republic,  the  governor  or  presi- 
dent was  called  the  Doge.  The  communication  between  the  ancient  palace  of  the  Doges 
and  the  prisons  of  Venice  is  by  a  gloomy  bridge,  or  covered  gallery,  over  which  prisoners 
condemned  to  death  were  led  to  be  executed,  hence  the  bridge  is  known  as  the  Bridge  of 
Sighs. 

3  The  Lion  of  St.  Mark  was  the  standard  or  national  emblem  of  the  Venetian  Republic, 
St.  Mark  being  the  patron  saint,  and  the  figure  of  a  lion  being  among  the  decorations  of 
St.  Mark's  Cathedral  (Venice),  one  of  the  most  beautiful  churches  in  the  world. 

*  {pron.  sib'e-lee)  the  mother  of  Jupiter  and  many  of  the  other  gotls. 


CHILDE   HAROLD.  109 

At  airy  distance,  with  majestic  motion, 
A  ruler  of  the  waters  and  their  powers  ; 
And  such  she  was  ;  her  daughters  had  their  dowers 
From  spoils  of  nations,  and  the  exhaustless  East 
Poured  in  her  lap  all  gems  in  sparkling  showers." 
In  purple  was  she  robed,  and  of  her  feast 
Monarchs  partook  and  deemed  their  dignity  increased. 

III. 
In  Venice,  Tasso's  echoes '  are  no  more, 
And  silent  rows  the  songless  gondolier; 
Her  palaces  are  crumbling  to  the  shore. 
And  music  meets  not  always  now  the  ear  ; 
These  days  are  gone — but  beauty  still  is  here. 
States  fall,  arts  fade— but  Nature  doth  not  die, 
Xor  yet  forget  how  Venice  once  was  dear. 
The  pleasant  ^olace  of  all  festivity. 
The  revel  of  the  earth,  the  mask '  of  Italy  ! 

IV. 

But  unto  us  she  hath  a  spell  beyond 

Her  name  in  story,  and  her  long  array 

Of  mighty  shadows,  whose  dim  forms  despond 

Above  the  dogeless  city's  vanished  sway ; 

Ours  is  a  trophy  which  will  not  decay 

With  the  Rialto  ;'  Shylock '  and  the  Moor,' 

And  Pierre,''  can  not  be  swept  or  woru  away — 

»  referring  to  the  extensive  trade  and  commerce  at  one  time  carried  ou  by  Venice  with 
eastern  countries  -Syria,  Egypt,  India,  etc. 

2  Tasso  was  a  great  Italian  poet  (bora  1544).  From  one  of  his  poems,  "  Jerusalem  De- 
livered,"' parts  of  the  song  of  the  gondoliers  (Venetian  boat  rowers)  were  taken. 

3  a  festive  entertainment ;  meaning  here  the  chief  place  of  pleasure  ia  Italy. 

4  name  of  one  of  the  numerous  bridges  in  Venice. 

5  the  Jew  in  Shakespeare's  play,  ''  The  Merchant  of  Venice,^'  in  which  the  Rialto  is  also 
mentioned. 

"the  principal  character  in  Shakespeare's  play  of  "Othello,""  the  scene  of  which  is 
partly  in  Venice. 

7  a  character  represented  as  a  patriot  in  the  play  of  "Venice  Preserved,'  written  by 
Thomas  Otway,  an  Euglii^h  dramatic  poet  of  the  seventeenth  century. 


110  CHILDE    HAROLa 

The  keystones  of  the  arch  I  though  all  were  o'er, 
For  lis  repeopled  were  the  solitary  shore. 

V. 

The  beings  of  the  mind  are  not  of  clay  ; 
Essentially  immortal,  they  create 
And  multiply  in  us  a  brighter  ray 
And  more  beloved  existence  :  that  which  Fate 
Prohibits  to  dull  life,  in  this  our  state 
Of  mortal  bondage,  by  these  spirits  supplied, 
First  exiles,  then  replaces  what  we  hate  ; 
Watering  the  heart  whose  early  flowers  have  died, 
And  with  a  fresher  growth  replenishing  the  void. 

VI. 

Such  is  the  refuge  of  our  youth  and  age. 
The  first  from  Hope,  the  last  from  Vacancy  ; 
And  this  worn  feeling  peoples  many  a  page. 
And,  may  be,  that  which  grows  beneath  mine  eye. 
Yet  there  are  things  whose  strong  realitv 
Outshines  our  fairy-land  ;  in  shape  and  hues 
More  beautiful  than  our  fantastic  sky. 
And  the  strange  constellations  which  the  Muse 
O'er  her  wild  universe  is  skillful  to  diffuse  : 

VII. 

I  saw  or  dreamed  of  such, — but  let  them  go— 
They  came  like  truth,  and  disappeared  like  dreams  ; 
And  whatsoe^'er  they  were — are  now  but  so  ; 
I  could  replace  them  if  I  would  :  still  teems 
My  mind  with  many  a  form  which  aptly  seems 
Such  as  I  sought  for,  and  at  moments  found  ; 
Let  these  too  go — for  waking  Reason  deems 
Such  overweening  phantasies  unsound. 
And  other  voices  speak,  and  other  sights  surround. 


CHILDE   HAROLD.  Ill 

XT. 

The  spouseless  Adriatic  mourns  her  lord  : 
And,  annual  marriage  now  no  more  renewed,' 
The  Bucentaur  lies  rotting  unrestored, 
Neglected  garment  of  her  widowhood  I 
St.  Mark  vet  sees  his  lion*  where  he  stood 
Stand,  but  in  mockery  of  his  withered  power, 
Over  the  proud  place  where  an  Emperor  sued  ; ' 
And  monarchs  gazed  and  envied  in  the  hour 
When  Venice  was  a  queen  with  an  unequaled  dower. 

XYIII. 

I  loved  her  from  my  boyhood  ;  she  to  me 
Was  as  a  fairy  city  of  the  heart. 
Rising  like  water-columns  from  the  sea. 
Of  joy  the  sojourn,  and  of  wealth  the  mart. 
And  Otway,  Radcliffe,  Schiller,  Shakespeare's*  art. 
Had  stamped  her  image  in  me,  and  even  so. 
Although  I  found  her  thus,  we  did  not  part. 
Perchance  even  dearer  in  her  day  of  woe. 
Than  when  she  was  a  boast,  a  marvel^  and  a  show, 

XXV. 

But  my  soul  wanders  :  I  demand  it  back 
To  meditate  amongst  decay,  and  stand 

'  in  former  times  there  used  to  be  in  Venice  every  year,  on  Ascension  Thursday  (fortieth 
day  after  Easter),  a  grand  water-procession,  formed  of  a  number  of  the  citizens,  in  gondo- 
las, headed  by  the  Doge  in  a  vessel  called  the  Bucentaur,  which  was  kept  specially  for 
the  purpose.  When  the  procession  reached  the  mouth  of  one  of  the  channels  opening 
into  the  sea,  the  Doge  "  married  the  Adriatic,"  by  dropping  a  ring  into  the  water,  at  the 
same  time  repeating  the  words,  "  We  wed  thee  with  this  ring  in  token  of  our  true  and 
perpetual  sovereiguty." 

2  See  note  .3,  page  108- 

3  Frederick  I.,  Emperor  of  Germany  from  1152  to  1190,  who  was  excommunicated  by 
Pope  Alexander  III.,  with  whom  he  had  a  quarrel  for  many  years.  In  1177  Frederick  sub- 
mitted to  Alexander,  and  appeared  before  him  in  St.  Mark's  Cathedral,  Venice,  where 
the  excommunication  was  removed. 

*  names  of  authors  who  wrote  about  Venice. 


112  CHILDE  HAROLD. 

A  I'll  ill  iiiiiidst  ruiiLS  ;  there  to  track 

Fiill'ii  states  and  buried  greatness^  o'er  a  land 

Which  was  the  mightiest  in  its  old  command. 

And  is  the  loveliest,  and  must  ever  be 

The  master-mold  of  Nature's  heavenly  hand, 

AVherein  were  cast  the  heroic  and  tlie  free, 

The  beautiful,  the  brave — the  lords  of  earth  and  sea. 

y 

XXVI. 

The  commonwealth  of  kings,  the  men  of  Rome  ! 
And  even  since,  and  now,  fair  Italy  ! 
Thou  art  the  garden  of  the  world,  the  home 
Of  all  Art  yields,  and  Nature  can  decree  ; 
Even  in  thy  desert,  what  is  like  to  thee  ? 
Thy  very  weeds  are  beautiful,  thy  Avaste 
More  rich  than  other  climes'  fertility; 
Thy  wreck  a  glory,  and  thy  ruin  graced 
With  an  immaculate  charm  which  can  not  be  defaced. 

XXVII. 

The  moon  is  up,  and  yet  it  is  not  night — 
Sunset  divides  the  sky  with  her — a  sea 
Of  glory  streams  along  the  Alpine  height 
Of  blue  Friuli's  '  mountains  ;  Heaven  is  free 
From  clouds,  but  of  all  the  colors  seems  to  be — 
Melted  to  one  vast  Iris*  of  the  West, 
Where  the  Day  joins  the  past  Eternity  ; 
While,  on  the  other  hand,  meek  Dian's  crest  ^ 
Floats  through  the  azure  air — an  island  of  the  blest  ! 

XXVIII. 

A  single  star  is  at  her  side,  and  reigns 

With  her  o'er  half  the  lovely  heaven  ;  but  still 

■  Friuli,  a  district  in  North  Italy. 

2  the  goddess  supposed  to  have  been  the  representative  of  the  rainbow. 

3  the  moon.    Dian  or  Diana  was  the  goddess  of  the  moon. 


CHILDE  HAROLD.  113 

Yon  sunny  sea  heaves  brightly,  and  remains 
Rolled  o'er  the  peak  of  the  far  Rhsetian  hill/ 
As  Day  and  Xiglit  contending  were,  until 
ISTature  reclaimed  her  order  : — gently  flows 
The  deep-dyed  Brenta/  where  their  hues  instill 
The  odorous  purple  of  a  new-born  rose, 
Which  streams  upon  her  stream,  and  glassed  within  it 
glows, 

XXIX. 

Filled  with  the  face  of  heaven,  which,  from  afar. 

Comes  down  upon  the  waters  ;  all  its  hues. 

From  the  rich  sunset  to  the  rising  star. 

Their  magical  variety  diffuse  : 

And  now  they  change  ;  a  paler  shadow  strews 

Its  mantle  o'er  the  mountains  ;  parting  day 

Dies  like  the  dolphin,  whom  each  pang  imbues 

With  a  new  color  as  it  gasps  away," 

The  last  still  loveliest,  till — 'tis  gone — and  all  is  gray. 


XXXY. 

Ferrara  !  *  in  thy  wide  and  grass-grown  streets, 
AVhose  symmetry  was  not  for  solitude. 
There  seems  as  'twere  a  curse  upon  the  seats 
Of  former  sovereigns,  and  the  antique  brood 
Of  Este,"  which  for  many  an  age  made  good 
Its  strength  within  thy  walls,  and  was  of  yore 
Patron  or  tyrant,  as  the  clianging  mood 

'  Rhaetia,  the  ancient  name  of  a  district  nortli  of  Italy,  including  part  of  the  Alps. 

2  a  river  in  the  north  of  Italy  flowing  into  the  Gulf  of  Venice. 

3  The  dolphin  is  a  large  fish  celebrated  for  its  changes  of  color  when  dying. 
*  a  city  in  the  north  of  Italy. 

6  an  old  and  powerful  family  of  Italy,  which,  in  the  thirteenth  century,  obtained  posses- 
sion of  Ferrara. 

8 


114  CHILDE   HAROLD. 

Of  petty  2)owor  impelled,  of  those  '  who  wore 
The  wreath  which  Dante's  ^  brow  alone  had  worn  before. 

XXXVI. 

And  Tasso  is  their  glory  and  their  shame. 
Hark  to  his  strain  I  and  then  survey  his  cell  ! 
And  see  how  dearly  earned  Torqnato^s  ^  fame. 
And  where  Alfonso^  bade  his  poet  dwell. 
The  miserable  despot  could  not  quell 
The  insulted  mind  he  sought  to  quench,  and  blend 
AVith  the  surrounding  maniacs,  in  the  hell 
Where  he  had  plunged  it.     Glory  without  end 
Scattered  the  clouds  away — and  on  that  name "  attend 

XXXVII. 

The  tears  and  praises  of  all  time,  while  thine 
Would  rot  in  its  oblivion — in  the  sink 
Of  worthless  dust,  which  from  thy  boasted  line 
Is  shaken  into  nothing  ;  but  the  link 
Thou  formest  in  his  fortunes  bids  us  think 
Of  thy  poor  malice,  naming  thee  with  scorn  — 
Alfonso  !  how  thy  ducal  pageants  shrink 
From  thee  I  if  in  another  station  born. 
Scarce  fit  to  be  the  slave  of  him  thou  mad'st  to  mourn. 


XXXIX. 

Peace  to  Torquato^s  injured  shade  !  'twas  his 
In  life  and  death  to  be  the  mark  where  Wronof 

1  poets  and  literary  men,  who  were  much  patronized  by  the  Este  family. 

2  Dante,  the  greatest  of  Italian  poets,  was  born  in  Florence  in  1;CG5.  His  chief  work  is 
the  "  Divina  Commedia  ''  (Divine  Comedy),  describing  a  vision  in  which  the  poet  is  ecu- 
ducted  through  Hell  and  Purgatory,  and  then  through  Heaven,  where  he  beholds  God. 

3  Torquato  Tasso,  the  Italian  poet. 

*  Alfonso,  Duke  of  Ferrara,  who  put  the  poet  Tasso  in  prison,  with  the  purpose,  it  is 
said,  of  keeping  him  under  restraint  while  suffering  from  insanity. 

*  Tasso. 


CHILDE   HAROLD.  115 

Aimed  with  her  j^oisoned  arrows — but  to  miss. 
Oh,  victor  unsurpassed  in  modern  song  I 
Each  year  brings  forth  its  millions  :  but  how  long 
The  tide  of  generations  shall  roll  on. 
And.  not  the  whole  combined  and  countless  throng 
Compose  a  mind  like  thine  ?     Though  all  in  one 
Condensed  their  scattered  rays,  they  would  not  form  a  sun. 

XL. 

Great  as  thou  art,  yet  paralleled  by  those 
Thy  countrymen,  before  thee  born  to  shine. 
The  bards  of  Hell  and  Chivalry  :  ^  first  rose 
The  Tuscan  father's  "  comedy  divine  ; 
Then,  not  unequal  to  tlie  Florentine,  ^ 
The  Southern  Scott,*  the  minstrel  who  called  forth 
A  new  creation  Avith  his  magic  line. 
And,  like  the  Ariosto  of  the  Xorth, 
Sang  ladye-love  and  war,  romance  and  knightly  worth. 

XLYIII. 

But  Arno  ^  wins  us  to  the  fair  white  walls. 

Where  the  Etrurian  Athens "  claims  and  keeps 

A  softer  feeling  for  her  fairy  halls. 

Girt  by  her  theater  of  hills,  she  reaps 

Her  corn,  and  wine,  and  oil,  and  Plenty  leaps 

To  laughing  life,  with  her  redundant  horn." 

Along  the  banks  where  smiling  Arno  sweeps, 

1  Dante  and  Ariosto.     The  latter  was  born  at  Reggio  in  1474. 

2  Dante  is  so  called,  the  place  of  his  birth  (Florence)  being  in  the  province  of  Tuscany. 
s  Dante. 

*  Ariosto  is  here  meant.  He  is  called  "  the  Southern  Scott  *'  because  his  great  poem, 
"Orlando  Furioso,"  treats  of  "ladye-love  and  war,''  like  some  of  those  of  the  famous 
Scottish  poet  f Scott),  and  in  the  second  next  line  the  latter  is  referred  to  as  the  "  Ariosto 
of  the  North.'' 

*  a  river  of  Tuscany  (central  Italy)  flowing  into  the  Mediterranean. 

*  Florence  (on  the  Arno),  situated  in  the  district  anciently  named  Etruria,  and  in 
former  times  almost  as  celebrated  as  Athens  for  works  of  art  and  learning. 

'  Ceres,  the  goddess  of  Agriculture,  was  represented  as  bearing  in  her  hand  a  "  horn  of 
plenty."  pouring  its  abundant  contents  of  fruits  and  flowers  on  the  ground. 


116  CITILDE   HAROLD. 

Was  modern  Luxury  of  Commerce  born, 
And  buried  Learning  rose,  redeemed  to  a  new  morn. 

XLIX. 

There,  too,  the  Goddess  loves  in  stone,'  and  fills 
The  air  around  with  beauty  ;  we  inhale 
The  ambrosial^  aspect,  which,  beheld,  instills 
Part  of  its  immortality;  the  veil 
Of  heaven  is  half  undrawn  ;  within  the  pale 
Vie  stand,  and  in  that  form  and  face  behold 
"What  Mind  can  make,  when  Nature's  self  would  fail ; 
And  to  the  fond  idolaters  of  old 
Envy  the  innate  flash  which  such  a  soul  could  mold  : 

LIV. 

In  Santa  Croce's  ^  holy  precincts  lie 
Ashes  which  make  it  holier,  dust  which  is 
E'en  in  itself  an  immortality. 

Though  there  were  nothing  save  the  past,  and  this 
The  particle  of  those  sublimities 
Which  have  relapsed  to  chaos  : — here  repose 
Angelo's,*  Alfieri's  *  bones,  and  his. 
The  starry  Galileo,^  with  his  woes  ; 
Here  Machiavelli's^  earth  returned  to  whence  it  rose. 

LV. 

These  are  four  minds,  which,  like  the  elements. 
Might  furnish  forth  creation  : — Italy  ! 

'  referring  to  the  statue  of  the  goddess  Venus  in  Florence,  famed  for  its  artistic  excel- 
lence and  beauty,  and  known  as  the  Venus  de  Medici,  from  having  been  preserved  for  a 
time  in  the  palace  of  the  Medici  family  in  Rome.  The  statue  is  the  work  of  Cleomenes, 
an  Athenian  sculptor  of  the  second  century  before  Christ. 

2  aclj.,  from  ambrosia,  the  food  of  the  gods,  which  rendered  those  who  partook  of  it 
immortal. 

'  Santa  Croce,  the  Cathedral  of  Florence. 

■•  Michael  Augelo,  one  of  Italy's  greatest  sculptors  and  painters,  born  1474. 

*  Count  AUieri,  Italian  dranuUic  poet,  born  1749. 

•  Galileo  (Jalilci,  famous  astronomer,  born  at  Pisa  (north  Italy),  1564 ;  imprisoned  iu 
Rome  for  teaching  the  revolution  of  tlie  earth  round  the;  sun. 

^  Nicholas  Machiavelli,  statesman  and  writer,  born  in  Florence,  1409. 


CHILDE  HAROLD.  117 

Time,  which  hath  wronged  thee  with  ten  thousand  rents 
Of  thine  imperial  garment,  shall  deny, 
And  hath  denied,  to  every  other  sky, 
Spirits  which  soar  from  ruin  : — thy  decay 
Is  still  impregnate  with  divinity, 
Which  gilds  it  with  revivifying  ray  ; 
Such  as  the  great  of  yore,  Canova '  is  to-day. 

LYI. 

But  where  repose  the  all  Etruscan  three — 
Dante,  and  Petrarch,'  and,  scarce  less  than  they, 
The  Bard  of  Prose,  creative  spirit  !  he 
Of  the  Hundred  Tales  of  love  '—where  did  they  lay 
Their  bones,  distinguished  from  our  common  clay 
In  death  as  life  ?     Are  they  resolved  to  dust, 
And  have  their  country's  marbles  nought  to  say  ? 
Could  not  her  quarries  furnish  forth  one  bust  ? 
Did  they  not  to  her  breast  their  filial  earth  entrust  ? 

LYII. 

Ungrateful  Florence  I   Dante  sleeps  afar,* 
Like  Scipio,'  buried  by  the  upbraiding  shore ; 
Thy  factions,  in  their  worse  than  civil  war. 
Proscribed  the  bard  '  whose  name  for  evermore 
Their  children's  children  would  in  vain  adore 
With  the  remorse  of  ages  :  and  the  crown 
Which  Petrarch's  laureate  brow  supremely  wore,' 

1  Antonio  Canova,  a  great  sculptor,  born  in  north  Italy  1757,  died  1822. 

2  celebrated  Italian  poet,  born  at  Arezzo,  1304. 

sreferrins  to  the  "Decameron,"  a  book  of  one  hundred  stories,  written  by  Boccaccio 
{pron.  bok'kat'cho),  who  was  born  in  Paris,  in  1313,  of  Italian  parentas^e.  Dante, 
Petrarch,  and  Boccaccio  are  called  "Etruscan,"  because  their  families  belonged  to  the 
district  of  Etruria.  the  inhabitants  of  which  were  called  Etruscans. 

*  buried  at  R-ivenna,  central  Italy. 

spublius  Cornelius  Scipio.  a  famous  general  of  ancient  Rome,  born  2:37  B.C.  ;  buried, 
it  is  said,  near  the  sea-shore  at  Liternum,  Campania,  south  Italy. 

<  referring  to  the  banishment  of  Dante  from  Florence  by  one  of  the  factions  at  the  time 
in  control  of  the  city. 

T  Petrarch  was  crowned  with  a  poet's  laurel  wreath  in  the  Capitol  at  Rome  in  1341. 


118  CHII.DK    HAROLD. 

Upon  .1  far  and  forsign  soil  had  grown. 
His  life,  his  fame,  his  grave/  though  rifled — not  thine  own. 

LVIII. 

Boccaccio  to  liis  parent  earth  bequeathed 
His  dust, — and  lies  it  not  her  Great  among, 
AVith  many  a  sweet  and  solemn  requiem  breathed 
O'er  him  who  formed  the  Tuscan's  siren'  tonofue  ? 
That  music  in  itself,  whose  sounds  are  song, 
The  poetry  of  speech  ?     No  ; — even  his  tomb 
Uptorn,  must  bear  the  hy£ena  bigot's  wrong/ 
No  more  amidst  tlie  meaner  dead  find  room, 
Nor  claim  a  passing  sigh,  because  it  told  for  whom  ! 

Lxxvin. 
0  Rome  I  my  country  !  city  of  the  soul  ! 
The  orphans  of  the  heart  most  turn  to  thee, 
Lone  mother  of  dead  empires  I  and  control 
In  their  shut  breasts  their  petty  misery. 
What  are  our  woes  and  sufferance  ?     Come  and  see 
The  cypress,  hear  the  owl,  and  plod  your  way 
O'er  steps  of  broken  thrones  and  temples.  Ye  ! 
Whose  agonies  are  evils  of  a  day — 
A  world  is  at  our  feet  as  fragile  as  our  clay.* 

LXXIX. 

The  Niobe  ^  of  nations  !   there  she  stands, 
Cliildless  and  crownless  in  her  voiceless  woe  ; 

'  at  Arqua,  in  north  Italy. 

2  musical,  the  language  of  Tuscany  being  remarkable  for  its  sweetness  and  softness. 

3  Boccaccio  was  buried  in-a  church  in  CertaJdo  (central  Italy),  from  which  his  remains 
were  afterwards  ejected  by  persons  who  disliked  some  of  his  writings. 

•*  In  a  letter  from  Rome,  shortly  after  his  arrival  in  the  city,  Byron  AVrote  :  "  I  have 
been  some  days  in  Rome  the  Wonderful.  I  am  delighted  with  Rome.  As  a  \\hole — 
ancient  and  modem— it  beats  Greece,  Constantinople,  everything— at  least  that  I  have 
ever  seen.''' 

^  Niobe,  wife  of  Amphion,  an  ancient  Greek  king.  She  had  twelve  children,  of  whom 
she  was  so  proud  that  she  despised  Latona,  who  had  only  two— the  god  Apollo  and  the 
goddess  Diana.  To  punish  her  pride  the  two  deities  killed  all  her  children,  at  which  she 
was  struck  dumb  with  grief  ;  and  the  other  gods,  pitying  her  distress,  changed  her  into 
stone. 


CHILDK    HAROLD.  H^ 

An  empty  urn  within  her  withered  hands. 
Whose  holy  dust  was  scattered  long  ago  ; 
The  Scipios' '  tomb  contains  no  ashes  now  ; 
The  very  sepulchers  lie  tenantless 
Of  their  heroic  dwellers  :  dost  thou  flow, 
Old  Tiber  I'  through  a  marble  wilderness  ? 
Rise,  with  thy  yellow  waves,  and  mantle  her  distress  ! 

LXXX. 

The  Goth,'  the  Christian,  Time,  AYar,  Flood,  and  Fire, 
Have  dealt  upon  the  seven-hilled  city's^  pride  : 
She  saw  her  glories  star  by  star  expire. 
And  up  the  steep  barbarian  monarchs  ride, 
Where  the  car  '  climbed  the  Capitol ;  far  and  wide 
Temple  and  tower  went  down,  nor  left  a  site  ;— 
Chaos  of  ruins  I  who  shall  trace  the  void. 
O'er  the  dim  fragments  cast  a  lunar  light. 
And  say,  ''  Here  was,  or  is,"  where  all  is  doubly  night  ? 

LXXXI. 

The  double  night  of  ages,  and  of  her, 
Night's  daughter.  Ignorance,  hath  wrapt,  and  wrap 
Alfround  us  ;  we  but  feel  our  way  to  err  : 
The  ocean  hath  its  chart,  the  stars  their  map  ; 
And  Knowledge  spreads  them  on  her  ample  lap  ; 
But  Rome  is  as  the  desert,  where  we  steer 
Stumbling  o'er  recollections  :  now  we  clap 
Our  hands,  and  cry,  -  Eureka  !  "  '  it  is  clear- 
When  but  some  false  mirage  of  ruin  rises  near. 

their  kinc-.  Alaric.  and  captured  and  pillaged  Rome. 

chariot  drawn  by  four  horses. 
«  Greek  word  for  "  I  bave  found  it." 


120  CHILDE   HAROLD. 

LXXXII. 

Alas  !  the  lofty  city  !  jiiul  alas  ! 
The  trebly  hundred  triumphs !  and  the  day 
When  Brutus  '  made  the  dagger's  edge  surpass 
The  conqueror's  sword  in  bearing  fame  away  ! 
Alas  for  Tully's  '  voice,  and  Virgil's^  lay, 
And  Livy's  *  pictured  page  !     But  these  shall  be 
Her  resurrection  ;  all  beside — decay. 
Alas  for  Earth,  for  never  shall  we  see 
That  brightness  in  her  eye  she  bore  when  Rome  was  free  ! 

•  ••••• 

CXXVIII. 

Arches  on  arches  !  as  it  were  that  Rome, 
Collecting  the  chief  trophies  of  her  line, 
AVould  build  up  all  her  triumphs  in  one  dome. 
Her  Coliseum  ^  stands  ;  the  moonbeams  shine 
As  ^twere  its  natural  torches,  for  divine 
Should  be  the  light  which  streams  here,  to  illume 
This  long  exijlored  but  still  exhaustless  mine 
Of  contemplation  ;  and  the  azure  gloom 
Of  an  Italian  night,  where  the  deep  skies  assume 

cxxix. 

Hues  which  have  words,  and  speak  to  ye  of  heaven. 
Floats  o'er  this  vast  and  wondrous  monument, 
And  shadows  forth  its  glory.     There  is  given 
Unto  the  things  of  earth,  which  Time  hath  bent, 
A  spirit's  feeling,  and  where  he  hath  leant 
His  hand,  but  broke  his  scythe,  there  is  a  power 
And  magic  in  the  ruined  battlement, 

1  Marcus  Junius  Brutus,  who  killed  Julius  Caesar,  44  b.c. 

2  Tully,  Marcus  Tullius  Cicero,  the  greatest  orator  of  ancient  Rome,  bom  106  B.C. 
8  Virgil,  the  greatest  of  Roman  poets,  born  70  b.c. 

*  Livy,  the  greatest  of  Roman  historians,  born  01  b.c. 

6  a  vast  theatre  in  Rome,  covering  five  acres  of  ground,  and  capable  of  containing  eighty- 
seven  thousand  persons,  finished  by  the  Emperor  Titus  in  80  a.d. 


CHILDE   HAROLD.  121 

For  which  the  palace  of  the  present  hour 
Must  yield  its  pomp^  and  wait  till  ages  are  its  dower. 

cxxxix. 

And  here  the  buzz  of  eager  nations  ran. 
In  murmured  pity,  or  loud-roared  applause, 
As  man  was  slaughtered  by  his  fellow-man/ 
And  wherefore  slaughtered  ?  wherefore,  but  because 
Such  were  the  bloody  Circus^  genial  laws. 
And  the  imperial  pleasure.''     Wherefore  not  ? 
What  matters  where  we  fall  to  fill  the  maws 
Of  worms — on  battle-plains  or  listed  spot  ? 
Both  are  but  theatres  where  the  chief  actors  rot. 

CXL. 

I  see  before  me  the  Gladiator  lie  : 
He  leans  upon  his  hand — his  manly  brow 
Consents  to  death,  but  conquers  agony, 
And  his  drooped  head  sinks  gradually  low — 
And  through  his  side  the  last  drops,  ebbing  slow 
From  the  red  gash,  fall  heavy,  one  by  one, 
Like  the  first  of  a  thunder-shower  ;  and  now 
The  arena  ^  swims  around  him — he  is  gone. 
Ere  ceased  the  inhuman  shout  which  hailed  the  wretch 
who  won. 

CXLI. 

He  heard  it,  but  he  heeded  not — his  eyes 
W^ere  with  his  heart,  and  that  was  far  away  ; 

'  In  the  Coliseum  gladiators  fought  with  one  another  or  with  wild  beasts  fof  the 
amusement  of  the  spectators.  The  gladiators  were  generally  slaves,  bought  or  captured 
in  war,  and  trained  for  this  purpose.  They  were  compelled  to  fight  to  death,  and  if  any 
showed  cowardice  he  was  killed.  The  Emperor  Trajan  gave  a  show  of  one  hundred  and 
twenty-three  days,  in  which  two  thousand  men  fought  with  one  another  arid  with  wild 
beasts  for  the  entertainment  of  seventy  thousand  Romans. 

'  at  the  pleasure  of  the  emperor  and  citizens. 

•the  open  space  in  the  centre,  where  the  performance  took  place,  »o  called  from  being 
covered  with  sand,  the  Latin  word  for  which  is  arena. 


122  ClIILDK    ilAROl.l). 

Ho  recked  nol  of  the  life  he  lost  nor  prize. 
But  where  his  rude  hut  by  the  Danube  '  lay, 
There  were  his  yoking  barbarians  "^  all  at  play, 
lliere  was  their  Dacian  ^  mother — he,  their  sire. 
Butchered  to  make  a  Roman  holiday — 
All  this  rushed  with  his  blood — Shall  he  expire. 
And  unavenged  ? — Arise  I  ye  Goths,  and  glut  your  ire  I 

CXLII. 

But  here,  where  Murder  breathed  her  bloody  steam  ; 
And.  here,  where  buzzing  nations  choked  the  ways. 
And  roared  and  murmured  like  a  mountain  stream 
Dashing  or  winding  as  its  torrent  strays  ; 
Here,  where  the  Eoman  million's  blame  or  praise 
Was  death  or  life,  the  playthings  of  a  crowd. 
My  voice  sounds  much — and  fall  the  stars'  faint  rays 
On  the  arena  void — seats  crushed,  walls  bowed — 
And  galleries   where    my  steps    seem   echoes   strangely 
loud. 

CXLIII. 

A  ruin — yet  what  ruin  !  from  its  mass 
Wall,  palaces,  half-cities,  have  been  reared  ; 
Yet  oft  the 'enormous  skeleton  ye  pass. 
And  marvel  where  the  spoil  could  have  appeared. 
Hath  it  indeed  been  plundered,  or  but  cleared  ? 
Alas  I  developed,  opens  the  decay. 
When  the  colossal  fabric's  form  is  neared  ; 
It  will  not  bear  the  brightness  of  the  day, 
Which  streams  too  much  on  all  years,  man,  have  reft 
away. 

CXLIV. 

But  when  the  rising  moon  begins  to  climb 
Its  topmost  arch,  and  gently  pauses  there  ; 

>  river  of  central  Europe.  '  his  children. 

3  Dacia,  a  country  of  central  Europe,  conquered  by  the  Emperor  Trajan. 


CHILDE   HAROLD.  123 

When  tlie  stars  twinkle  tliroug-h  the  loops  of  time, 
And  the  low  night-breeze  waves  along  the  air, 
The  garland  forest,  Avhich  the  gray  walls  wear. 
Like  laurels  on  the  bald  first  Csesar's  head  ;  ^ 
When  the  light  shines  serene,  but  doth  not  glare. 
Then  in  this  magic  circle  raise  the  dead  : 
Heroes  have  trod  this  s^^ot — 'tis  on  their  dust  ye  tread. 

CXLY. 

''  While  stands  the  Coliseum,  Rome  shall  stand  ; 
When  falls  the  Coliseum,  Rome  shall  fall  ; 
And  when  Rome  falls — the  World. ''^   From  our  own  lane] 
Thus  spake  the  pilgrims  o'er  this  mighty  wall 
In  Saxon  times,  which  we  are  wont  to  call 
Ancient  ;  and  these  three  mortal  things  are  still 
On  their  foundations,  and  unaltered  all  ; 
Rome  and  her  Ruin  past  Redemption's  skill, 
The  World,  the  same  wide  den — of  thieves,  or  what  ye  will 

CXLVI. 

Simple,  erect,  severe,  austere,  sublime — 
Shrine  of  all  saints  and  temple  of  all  gods, 
From  Jove  to  Jesus — spared  and  blest  by  time  ; 
Looking  tranquillity,  while  falls  or  nods 
Arch,  empire,  each  thing  round  thee,  and  man  plods 
His  way  through  thorns  to  ashes — glorious  dome  I 
Shalt  thou  not  last  ? — Time's  scythe  and  tyrants'  rods 
Shiver  upon  thee — sanctuary  and  home 
Of  art  and  piety — Pantheon  I  ^ — pride  of  Rome  I 

1  Julius  Caesar,  being  bald,  wore  a  laurel  wreath  on  his  head  when  he  appeared  in  the 
Roman  Senate. 

2  these  words,  used  by  Anglo-Saxon  pilgrims  who  visited  Rome  in  the  end  of  the  sev- 
enth century,  are  quoted  from  Gibbon's  '•  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,''  and 
are  taken  as  a  proof  '^at  at  that  time  the  Coliseum  was  entire. 

«  a  magnificent  teu.ple  dedicated  to  all  the  gods,  erected  in  27  B.C.,  and  the  only  ancient 
Roman  edifice  that  remains  entirely  preserved.  It  is  lighted  by  one  aperture  in  the  centre 
of  the  dome.  It  has  been  made  the  receptacle  of  busts  of  distinguished  men  of  modem 
times. 


124  CHILDE   HAROLD. 


CXLVII. 


Relic  of  nobler  (lays,  and  noblest  arts  ! 
Despoiled  yet  perfect,  with  tliy  circle  spreads 
A  lioliness  appealing  to  all  hearts — 
To  art  a  model  ;  and  to  him  who  treads 
Rome  for  the  sake  of  ages,  Glory  sheds 
Her  light  through  thy  sole  aperture  ;  to  those 
Who  worship,  here  are  altars  for  their  beads ; 
And  they  who  feel  for  genius  may  repose 
Their  eyes  on  honored  forms,  whose  busts  around  them 
close. 


CLIII. 

But  lo  !  the  dome — tlie  vast  and  wondrous  dome,* 
To  which  Diana's  marvel  ^  was  a  cell — 
Christ's  mighty  shrine  above  his  martyr's  ^  tomb  ! 
I  have  beheld  the  Ephesian's  miracle  ^ — 
Its  columns  strew  the  wilderness,  and  dwell 
The  hyaena  and  the  jackal  in  their  shade  ; 
I  have  beheld  Sophia's  bright  roofs  ■*  swell 
Their  glittering  mass  i'  the  sun,  and  have  surveyed 
Its  sanctuary  the  while  the  usurping  Moslem  prayed ; 

CLIV. 

But  thou,  of  temples  old,  or  altars  new, 
Standest  alone — with  nothing  like  to  thee — 
Worthiest  of  God,  the  holy  and  the  true, 
Since  Zion's  ^  desolation,  when  that  He  " 

'  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's,  the  largest  and  most  magnificent  church  in  the  world. 
^  tile  temple  of  tlie  goddess  Diana  at  Ephesus  (Asia  Minor),  one  of  the  seven  wonders 
of  the  world  in  ancient  times. 

*  the  Apostle  St.  Peter,  said  to  have  been  martyred  in  Rome. 

*  St.  Sopliia,  in  Constantinople  (Turkey),  formerly  a  Christian  church,  now  a  Moslem 
or  Mohammedan  mosque. 

^  Zion,  meaning  the  temple  of  Jerusalem.  •  God. 


CHILPE   HAROLD.  125 

Forsook  His  former  city,  what  could  be, 
Of  earthly  structures,  in  His  honor  piled. 
Of  a  sublimer  asjiect  ?     Majesty, 
Power,  Glory,  Strength,  and  Beauty,  all  are  aisled 
In  this  eternal  ark  of  worship  undefiled. 

•  •  •  •  •  • 

CLXXV. 

But  I  forget. — M}'  Pilgrim's  shrine  is  won 
And  he  '  and  I  must  part, — so  let  it  be, — 
His  task  and  mine  alike  are  nearly  done  ; 
Yet  once  more  let  us  look  upon  the  sea  : 
The  midland  ocean  '^  breaks  on  him  and  me, 

.    And  from  the  Alban  Mount  ^  we  now  behold 
Our  friend  of  youth,  that  Ocean,  which  when  we 
Beheld  it  last  by  Calpe's  rock  *  unfold 

Those  waves,  we  followed  on  till  the  dark  Euxine  '"  rolled. 

•  •  •  •  •  • 

CLXXVIII. 

There  is  a  pleasure  in  the  pathless  woods. 
There  is  a  rapture  on  the  lonely  shore. 
There  is  society  where  none  intrudes. 
By  the  deep  Sea,  and  music  in  its  roar  ! 
I  love  not  Man  the  less,  but  Nature  more, 
"From  these  our  interviews,  in  which  I  steal 
From  all  I  may  be,  or  have  been  before. 
To  mingle  with  the  Universe,  and  feel 
What  I  can  ne'er  express,  yet  cannot  all  conceal. 

CLXXIX. 

Roll  on,  thou  deep  and  dark  blue  Ocean — roll  ! 
Ten  thousand  fleets  sweep  over  thee  in  vain; 
Man  marks  the  earth  with  ruin — his  control 
Stops  with  the  shore  ;  upon  the  watery  plain 

1  Childe  Harold.  2  the  Mediterranean  Sea. 

8  Bome  miles  south  of  Rome.  *  Gibraltar.  *  the  Black  Sea. 


126  CHILDE   HAROLD. 

The  wrecks  are  all  thy  deed — nor  dotli  remain 
A  shadow  of  man's  ravage,  save  liis  own, 
Wlien  for  a  moment,  like  a  drop  of  rain, 
He  sinks  into  thy  dei:>ths  witli  buljbling  groan, 
AVithout  a  grave,  unknelled,'  uncoffined,  and  unknown. 

CLXXX. 

His  steps  are  not  upon  thy  paths — tliy  fields 
Are  not  a  spoil  for  liim. — thou  dost  arise 
And  shake  him  from  thee  ;  the  vile  strength  he  wields 
For  earth's  destruction  thou  dost  all  despise. 
Spurning  him  from  thy  bosom  to  the  skies. 
And  send'st  him,  shivering  in  thy  playful  spray 
And  howling,  to  his  gods,  where  haply  lies 
His  petty  hope  in  some  near  23ort  or  bay, 
And  dashest  him  again  to  earth  : — there  let  him  lay. 

CLXXXI. 

The  armaments  which  thunder-strike  the  walls 
Of  rock-built  cities,  bidding  nations  quake. 
And  monarchs  tremble  in  their  capitals. 
The  oak  leviathans,"  whose  huge  ribs  make 
Their  clay  creator^  the  vain  title  take 
Of  lord  of  thee,"  and  arbiter  of  war  ; 
These  are  thy  toys,  and,  as  the  snowy  flake, 
They  melt  into  thy  yeast  of  waves,  which  mar 
Alike  the  Armada's'  pride,  or  spoils  of  Trafalgar." 

CLXXXII. 

Thy  shores  ^  are  empires,  changed  in  all  save  thee — 
Assyria,  Greece,  Eome,  Carthage,  what  are  they  ? 

1  without  sound  of  funeral  bell. 

2  great  ships.    The  leviathan  is  mentioned  in  Scripture  as  a  large  sea  animal. 
'  man.  *  the  ocean. 

6  Armada  is  the  name  given  to  the  great  fleet  with  which  the  Spaniards  attempted  to 
invade  England  in  1588. 
«  See  note  4,  page  72.  ^  of  the  Mediterranean. 


CHILDE   HAROLD.  127 

Thy  waters  washed  them  power  while  they  were  free 
And  many  a  tyrant  since  :  their  shores  obey 
The  stranger,  slave,  or  savage  ;  their  decay 
Has  dried  np  realms  to  deserts  :  not  so  thon. 
Unchangeable  save  to  thy  wild  wave's  play— 
Time  writes  no  wrinkle  on  thine  azure  brow — 
Such  as  creation's  dawn  beheld,  thou  rollest  now. 

CLXXXIII. 

Thou  glorious  mirror,'  where  the  Almighty's  form 
Glasses  itself  in  tempests  ;  in  all  time, 
Calm  or  convulsed— in  breeze,  or  gale,  or  storm, 
Icing  the  pole,  or  in  the  torrid  clime 
Dark-heaving  ; — boundless,  endless,  and  sublime — 
The  image  of  Eternity — the  throne 
Of  the  Invisible,  even  from  out  thy  slime 
The  monsters  of  the  deep  are  made  ;  each  zone 
Obeys  thee  :  thou  goest  forth,  dread,  fathomless,  alone. 

CLXXXIV. 

And  I  have  loved  thee.  Ocean  !  and  my  joy 
Of  youthful  sports  was  on  thy  breast  to  be 
Borne  like  thy  bubbles,  onward  :  from  a  boy 
I  wanton'd  with  thy  breakers — they  to  me 
Were  a  delight  ;  and  if  the  freshening  sea 
Made  them  a  terror — 'twas  a  pleasing  fear. 
For  I  was  as  it  were  a  child  of  thee, 
And  trusted  to  thy  billows  far  and  near, 
And  laid  my  hand  upon  thy  mane  ' — as  I  do  here. 

CLXXXV. 

My  task  is  done — my  song  hath  ceased — my  theme 
Has  died  into  an  echo  ;  it  is  fit 
The  spell  should  break  of  this  protracted  dream. 
The  torch  shall  be  extinguished  which  hath  lit 

»  the  ocean.  '^  foamy  crest  of  the  waves. 


128  CHILDE   HAKOLD. 

My  midnight  lamp — and  what  is  writ,  is  writ — 
A\ Ould  it  were  wortliier  !  but  I  am  not  now 
That  whicli  1  have  been — and  my  visions  flit 
Less  palpably  before  me — and  the  glow 
AVhich  in  my  spirit  dwelt  is  fluttering,  faint,  and  low. 

CLXXXVI. 

Farewell  !  a  word  that  must  be,  and  hath  been — 
A  sound  which  makes  us  linger  ; — yet, — farewell  ! 
Ye,  who  have  traced  the  Pilgrim  to  the  scene 
Which  is  his  last,  if  in  your  memories  dwell 
A  thought  which  once  was  his,  if  on  ye  swell 
A  single  recollection,  not  in  vain 
He  wore  his  sandal-shoon '  and  scallop-shell  ;'^ 
Farewell  !  with  him  alone  may  rest  the  pain. 
If  such  there  were — with  you,  the  moral  of  his  strain. 

'  shoes  formed  of  soles  fastened  to  the  feet ;  they  were  worn  by  pilgrims. 
2  a  kind  of  shell  found  on  the  coast  of  Palestine,  and  worn  by  pilgrims  lo  show  that 
they  had  visited  the  Holy  Land. 


•  standard  *  Eiterature « Series  * 

Works  of  standard  authors  for  supplementary  reading  in 
schools — complete  selections  or  abridgments — with  introduc- 
tions and  explanator}'  notes.  Single  numbers,  64  to  128  pages, 
stiff  paper  sides  i2}i  cents,  cloth  20  cents  ;  double  numbers,  160 
to  224  pages,  stiff  paper  sides  20  cents,  cloth  30  cents. 

CONTENTS  OF  THE  FIRST  TWENTY-FOUR  (24)  NUM- 
BERS, ARRANGED  BY  COUNTRIES  AND    AUTHORS 

Starred  numbers  are  doubi,e.  All  the  works  are  complete,  or 
contain  complete  selections,  except  those  marked  "  abr. " 

flmerican  Jlutbors 

COOPER— The  Spy,  Xo.  i,  single  (abr.),  128  pp.     *The  Pilot,  No.  2 

(abr.),  181  pp.     "^The  Deerslayer,  No.  8  (abr.),  160  pp. 

DANA,  R.  H., Jr. — "Two  Years  Before  the  Mast,  No.  19  (abr.),  173 pp. 

HAWTHORNE — Twice-Told  Tales,  No.  15,  single,  complete  selec-^" 
tions,  128  pp.:  The  Village  Uncle,  The  Ambitious  Guest,  Mr.  Higgin- 
botham's  Catastrophe,  A  Rill  from  the  Town  Pump,  The  Great 
Carbuncle,  David  Swan,  Dr.  Heidegger's  Experiment,  Peter  Gold- 
thwaite's  Treasure,  The  Threefold  Destiny-,  Old  Esther  Dudley. 

A  "Wonder-Book,  for  Girls  and  Boys,  No.  16,  single,  complete 
selections,  121  pp. :  The  Golden  Touch,  The  Paradise  of  Children,  The 
Three  Golden  Apples,  The  ^Miraculous  Pitcher. 

The  Snow-Image  and  other  Twice-Told  Tales,  No,  20,  single, 
complete  selections,  121  pp. :  The  Snow-Image,  The  Great  Stone  Face, 
Little  Daffydowndilly,  The  Vision  of  the  Fountain,  The  Seven  Vaga- 
bonds, Little  Annie's  Ramble,  The  Prophetic  Pictures. 

IRVING — The  Alhambra,  No.  4,  single,  complete  selections,  128  pp.: 
Palace  of  the  Alhambra;  Alhamar,  the  Founder  of  the  Alhambra; 
Yusef  Abul  Hagig,  the  Finisher  of  the  Alhambra;  Panorama  from  the 
Tower  of  Comares;  Legend  of  the  Moor's  Legacy;  Legend  of  the  Rose 
of  the  Alhambra;  The  Governor  and  the  Notary;  Governor  Manco 
and  the  Soldier;  Legend  of  Two  Discreet  Statues;  Legend  of  Don 
Munio  Sancho  de  Hinojosa;  The  Legend  of  the  Enchanted  Soldier. 

The  Sketch-Book,  No.  17,  single,  complete  selections,  121  pp.: 
The  Author's  Account  of  Himself,  The  Broken  Heart,  The  Spectre 
Bridegroom,  Rural  Life  in  England,  The  Angler,  John  Bull,  The 
Christmas  Dinner,  Stratford-on-Avon. 

Knickerbocker  Stories,  No.  23,  single,  complete  selections,  140 
pp.:  I.  Broek,  or  the  Dutch  Paradise;  IL  From  Knickerbocker's  New 
York,  (a)  New  Amsterdam  under  Van  Twiller,  (b)  How  William  the 
Testv  Defended  the  Citv,  (c)  Peter  Stuvvesant's  Vovage  up  the  Hudson; 
in.  Wolfert's  Roost;  IV.  The  Storm' Ship;  V.  Rip  Van  Winkle;  VI. 
A  Legend  of  Sleepy  Hollow. 


Standard  «  Citcrature  «  Series 


KENNEDY,  J.  P.—"  Horse-Shoe  Robinson,  a  Tale  of  the  Revolution, 

No.  lo  (abr. ),  192  p]). 

LONGFELLOW— Evangeline,  a  Tale  of  Acadie,  No.  21,  single,  com- 
plete, 102  pp. 

engllsb  nmm 

BULWER-LYTTON—*  Harold,  the  Last  of  the  Saxon  Kings,  No.  12 
(abr.),  160  pp. 

BYRON— The  Prisoner  of  Chillon  and  Other  Poems,  No.  11,  single, 
complete  selections,  128  pp.:  The  Prisoner  of  Chillon,  Mazeppa, 
Childe  Harold. 

DICKENS— Christmas  Stories,  No.  5,  single  (abr.),  142  pp.:  A  Christ- 
mas Carol,  The  Cricket  on  the  Hearth,  The  Child's  Dream  of  a  Star. 

Little  Nell  (from  Old  Curiosity  Shop),  No.  22,  single  (abr.),  123  pp. 

Paul  Dombey  (from  Dombey  and  Son),  No.  14,  single  (abr.),  128  pp. 

SCOTT— *  Ivanhoe,  No.  24  (abr.),  180  pp.  *Kenilworth,  No.  7  (abr.), 
164  pp.  *Lady  of  the  Lake,  No.  9,  complete,  192  pp.  Rob  Roy,  No.  3, 
single  (abr.),  130  pp. 

SWIFT — Gulliver^s  Travels,  Voyages  to  LiHiput  and  Brobdingnag, 
No.  13,  single  (abr.),  128  pp. 

TENNYSON— Enoch  Arden  and  Other  Poems,  No.  6,  single,  com^ 
plete  selections,  no  pp.:  Enoch  Arden;  The  Coming  of  Arthur; 
The  Passing  of  Arthur;  Columbus;  The  May  Queen;  New  Year's  Eve; 
Conclusion;  Dora;  The  Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade;  The  Defence  of 
Lucknow;  Lady  Clare;  Break,  Break,  Break;  The  Brook;  Bugle  Song; 
Widow  and  Child;  The  Days  That  Are  No  More;  I  Envy  Not;  Oh, 
Yet  We  Trust;  Ring  Out,  Wild  Bells;  Crossing  the  Bar  (Tennyson's 
last  poem). 

f  rencb  flutbors 

HUGO,  VICTOR— "Ninety-Three,  No.  18  (abr.),  157  pp. 


Grading. — For  History  Classes:  Spy,  Pilot,  Deerslayer,  Horse-Shoe 
Robinson,  Knickerbocker  vStories,  Harold,  Kenilworth,  Rob  Roy, 
Ivanhoe,  Ninety-Three,  Alhambra.  Geography:  Two  Years  Before  the 
Mast.  English  Literature :  Evangeline,  Lady  of  the  Lake,  Enoch  Arden, 
Prisoner  of  Chillon,  Sketch-Book.  Lower  Grammar  Grades :  Christmas 
Stories,  Little  Nell,  Paul  Dombey,  Gulliver's  Travels,  Twice-Told 
Tales.     Primary  Grades :  Wonder-Book,  Snow-Image. 


numbers  25  10  40 

Each  with  Introduction  and  Notes.     Starred  numbers,  double. 
25.     ROBINSON  CRUSOE.    Defoe.    Illustrated.     For  Young  Readers. 
^26.    POEMS  OF  KNIGHTLY  ADVENTURE.    Tennyson,  Arnold, 
Macaulay,  Lowell.     Pour  Complete  Selections. 


standard  «  Eiterature  *  Scries 


*27.  THE  WATER  WITCH.    Cooper.     With  Map. 

28.  TALES  OF  A  GRANDFATHER.     Scott.    Complete  Selections. 

*29.  THE  LAST  OF  THE  MOHICANS.    Cooper.    With  Map. 

30.  THE  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS.     Bunyan.      For  Young  Readers. 

*3I.  BLACK  BEAUTY.     Sewell.     Complete. 

*32.  THE  YEMASSEE.    Cooper.    With  Map. 

"33.  WESTWARD  HO  I    Kingsley.     With  Map. 

*34,  'ROUND  THE  WORLD  IN  EIGHTY  DAYS.    Verne. 

35.  SWISS  FAMILY  ROBINSON.    Wyss.     Illustrated. 

*36.  THE  CHILDHOOD  OF  DAVID  COPPERFIELD.    Dickens. 

*37.  THE  SONG  OF  HIAWATHA.     Longfellow.     Complete. 

^38.  THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEU.    Bulwer-Lytton. 

39.  FAIRY  TALES.     Second  School  Year.     Selected  Tales. 

*40.  THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL.    Scott.    Complete. 

WHAT  PROMINENT  EDUCATORS  SAY 

W.  T.  Harris,  CotJimissioner  of  Edtication,  Washington,  D.  C:  "I  have 
examined  very  carefully  one  of  the  abridgments  from  Walter  Scott,  and  I 
would  not  have  believed  the  essentials  of  the  story  could  have  been  retained 
with  so  severe  an  abridgment.  But  the  story  thus  abridged  has  kept  its 
interest  and  all  of  the  chief  threads  of  the  plot.  I  am  very  glad  that  the 
great  novels  of  Walter  Scott  are  in  course  of  publication  by  your  house  in 
such  a  form  that  school  children,  and  older  persons  as  yet  unfamiliar  with 
Walter  Scott,  may  find  an  easy  introduction.  To  read  Walter  Scott's  novels 
is  a  large  part  of  a  liberal  education,  but  his  discourses  on  the  histor}'  of  the 
times  and  his  disquisitions  on  motives  render  his  stories  too  hard  for  the 
person  of  merely  elementary  education.  But  if  one  can  interest  himself  in 
the  plot,  and  skip  these  learned  passages,  he  may,  on  a  second  reading,  be 
able  to  grasp  the  whole  novel.  Hence  I  look  to  such  abridgments  as  you 
have  made  for  a  great  extension  of  Walter  Scott's  usefulness." 

William  H.  Max-well,  Superintendent  of  Ptihlic  Insiriiction,  New  York 
City  :  "I  take  great  pleasure  in  commending  to  those  who  are  seeking  for 
good  reading  in  the  schools,  the  Standard  Literature  Series.  The  editors  of 
the  series  have  struck  out  a  new  line  in  the  preparation  of  literature  for 
schools.  They  have  taken  great  works  of  fiction  and  poetry,  and  so  edited 
them  as  to  omit  what  is  beyond  the  comprehension,  or  what  would  weary 
the  attention,  of  children  in  the  higher  grades  of  elementarv  schools." 


Stdtidara  «  Citcraturc  «  Series 


Walter  B.  Gunnison,  Principal  Erasmus  Hall  High  School,  Brooklyn^ 
N.  V.  "I  have  watched  with  much  interest  the  issues  of  the  new  Standard 
Literature  Series,  and  have  examined  them  all  with  care,  I  regard  them  as 
a  distinct  addition  to  the  school  literature  of  our  country.  The  selections 
are  admirable— the  annotations  clear  and  comprehensive,  and  the  form  con- 
venient and  artistic." 

A.  E.  Winship,  Editor  "■Journal  of  Edtication,"  Bostoji,  Mass.  "  I 
desire  to  acknowledge,  after  many  days,  the  volumes  '  Kenilworth  '  and 
'  Harold,'  in  the  Standard  Literature  Series.  I  am  much  pleased  with  these 
books.  It  is  a  great  service  which  you  are  rendering  the  schools.  Our 
children  must  read  all  the  British-American  classics  which  have  any  bearing 
upon  history,  and,  with  all  that  is  absolutely  required  of  them  in  this  day, 
they  cannot  do  what  they  must  do.  There  is  a  conflict  of  '  oughts.'  You 
make  it  possible,  here,  for  the  child  to  get  all  he  needs  of  each  of  all  the 
books  he  must  read.  It  is  a  great  service.  I  admire  the  appreciation  of  the 
editors  of  their  text. 

C.  B.  Gilbert,  Superiyitendent  of  Schools,  Newark,  N.J.  "  The 
Standard  Literature  Series  bids  fair  to  prove  a  most  valuable  addition  to 
literature  available  for  use  in  schools.  The  books  are  well  selected,  carefully 
edited,  and  supplied  with  valuable  notes  and  maps.  '  Harold,  the  Last  of 
the  Saxon  Kings,'  may  serve  as  a  type.  For  classes  in  English  history  it 
will  prove  invaluable,  giving,  as  it  does  in  the  language  of  a  master,  a  most 
vivid  picture  of  early  England;  its  struggles  and  its  people.  The  Introduc- 
tion paves  the  way  for  what  is  to  follow.  The  portions  omitted  can  be 
spared,  and  the  notes  are  just  enough  to  clear  up  difficult  passages,  but  not 
enough  to  be  burdensome." 

R.  E.  Denfeld,  Stiperintendent  of  Schools,  Duluth,  Minn.  "  I  have 
carefully  read  many  of  the  numbers  of  the  Standard  Literature  Series  and  do 
not  hesitate  to  say  that  they  are  exceptionally  well  edited.  One  in  partic- 
ular I  have  in  mind  which  was  so  carefully  condensed  as  to  make  it  of 
convenient  size  for  a  school  reading  book,  and  yet  no  part  of  the  essentially 
connected  matter  was  omitted." 

Henry  R.  Sanford,  Institute   Conductor  for  New  York   State,  Penn 

Van,  N.  V.     "  Vou  are  doing  a  good  thing  in  thus  giving  to  the  public 

cheap  editions  of  standard  literature." 

Correspondence  is  invited.   Special  discounts  to  schools  and  dealers.    Address 

University  «  PublisDiiid  •  Company 

New  York  :  43-45-47  East  Tenth  St. 
Boston  :  352  Washington  St.  New  Orleans  :  714-716  Canal  St. 


....,,rT:,T»OTT<V     OF    CALIFOK' 


14  DAY  USE 

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